


The Titan's Word

by Clevinger



Category: The Owl House (Cartoon)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Belos has a point, Belos is loosely based on Joseph Seed here, Belos isn't evil, Biblical Allusions (Abrahamic Religions), Canon-Typical Violence, Day of Unity, Gen, Morally Gray Protagonist, Pre-Canon, Prequel, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Religious Themes, Some OCs by Scrabbleauthor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:07:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27010072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clevinger/pseuds/Clevinger
Summary: It's a tough time to live in the Boiling Isles: when deadly creatures aren't trying to gnaw your limbs off, wild witches are shaking you down for money or their own general amusement. Weaker witches cower in the face of oppression from their stronger brethren. Then along comes a masked witch named Belos, a man who claims to speak for the Titan himself. The Isles will never be the same when his ministry is complete.(A story set before the show that chronicles Belos's rise to power and domination of the Boiling Isles.)
Relationships: Emperor Belos & Luz Noceda, Emperor Belos & The Titan (The Owl House), Emperor Belos/Kikimora (The Owl House)
Comments: 47
Kudos: 55





	1. Now That This Old World Is Ending

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [My Child is a Human?!: An Emperor's Guide to Parenthood](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26215426) by [Scrabbleauthor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scrabbleauthor/pseuds/Scrabbleauthor). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emperor Belos's mysterious past and strange behaviors fascinate me. I love speculating about what drives him, whether he's honest about speaking to the Titan, and what his "Day of Unity" truly involves. I'd like to think that he had some valid points about wild witches, and that he didn't just come to power through brute force.
> 
> This is my attempt at making a backstory for him that rationalizes his rise to the throne without detailing every aspect of his life. It will feature some characters from the show, though people like Luz will be excluded due to the pre-canon time frame. Some of the OCs featured in this story come from Scrabbleauthor's fanfic "My Child is a Human?!: An Emperor's Guide to Parenthood." I would recommend giving it a read - it's really good!
> 
> With that in mind, I hope you enjoy the story!

_The Book of Titan, chapter 1, verses 20-28:_

_“…But who am I to speak for you?” Belos said, still kneeling in terror of the being before him. “I am no king, no leader of witches. I am just a farmer; all I know is how to care for my vineyard. I am not worthy to be your voice.”_

_“That is exactly why I am choosing you,” the Titan explained. “You are like the other witches of the Isles: imperfect and fearful. Yet, in spite of this, you have a righteous heart and desire to do good. My people will see themselves in you and become inspired to follow in your footsteps. You will be an ideal to strive for.”_

_After speaking this, the Titan filled Belos with his power. The once-weak illusionist saw the endless possibilities of combining magic and understood the immense abilities at his command. More importantly, he realized how easily this magic could be abused – and how the wild witches were already doing so._

_“Now rise, Belos,” the Titan commanded him. “Go into the heart of the city and preach my word. Help my people to see the light of my guidance.”_

* * *

Long before the coven system, before Emperor Belos unified witches under his authority, or even before Titan worship came into prominence, the Boiling Isles was a cutthroat region. The strongest spellcasters made the rules, and anyone weaker than them either obeyed or faced grave punishment. Cities had some law and order to them, but every witch had to fend for themselves on the frontier. When the sun went down and darkness descended upon the land, the beautiful countryside became a dangerous place to live.

Nights belonged to the wild witches: ruthless magic users that combined spell types as they saw fit. Their power dwarfed that of an ordinary witch, who could typically only master one form of magic. They did whatever they pleased…because, really, who could stop them? Most witches were too scared of their immense magical abilities to fight back. With no consequences to worry about, wild witches would take advantage of their “lesser” counterparts however they could.

In the outskirts of Bonesborough, a common scene was being played out: a wild witch shaking down a weaker magic user for money.

“You’re hard of hearing, aren’t you?” the massive witch snarled at the portly man half his size. “I said _rent is due_. Your orchard is still in one piece because you’ve always paid up.”

The orchard owner, a meek witch named Seth, could only back against the wall in terror. Belshazzar, the beast-like witch with gnarled skin and a face full of teeth, had come early to collect the month’s rent. Rather, he had showed up two weeks early and demanded a full payment. There had been no time to get enough snails together to cover the cost.

“I-I told you, I don’t have it ready yet!” Seth said. “Please, I’ll pay you at the end of the month!”

Belshazzar snapped his teeth mere centimeters from the owner’s nose, leaving him cowering with his arms shielding his face. A low, menacing growl left the fearsome witch’s mouth.

“Then hand over something to cover the cost. Something like…” his massive mouth curled into a grin, “…the two barrels of vintage apple blood in your cellar.”

Apparently, there were limits that even the weaker witch wouldn’t cross. Seth angrily crossed his arms and declared, “No! You’re not getting that! You don’t even own my orchard, you’re just a thief bullying me for it!”

His eyes glowed as he drew a spell circle, summoning a quartet of vines to grab Belshazzar’s arms and pin him down. The wild witch was caught by surprise and stumbled onto the ground, held captive by the plant magic.

The trap didn’t last. Belshazzar quickly tore the vines loose from the earth, roaring as he slapped Seth onto the ground with them. He drew a light blue spell circle, creating illusionary copies of himself that surrounded his victim. With another spell circle, he summoned his own thorny vines to imprison Seth under their painful snare.

“For an outburst like that, I’d make you pay even more…but I’m feeling generous tonight.” The wild witch’s copies leered at his captive. “Figure out which one of us is beating you down, and you won’t pay a single snail.”

With that, the illusions descended on the man, kicking and punching and smacking him with relentless fury. Belshazzar swapped places with his copies after every hit, making the blows appear to come from all angles. The beatdown was brutal and merciless. All Seth could do was vainly cry out for help, knowing full well that no one would hear him in this isolated pocket of the Isles.

A painful sound cut through the air, like the scraping of metal against metal. Belshazzar stopped what he was doing and glanced around, searching for the source of the noise. All was silent until a commanding voice made itself heard.

“To think, the Titan gave you such wonderful gifts, yet you use them to cause suffering. You wild witches have earned your reputation.”

Belshazzar jerked around, releasing the owner from his bindings. “Who’s there?” the brute shouted into the darkness of the night. “Show yourself, coward!”

“Right in front of you.”

The empty space beside the barnyard door now stood occupied by a strange witch. He wore a rough wooden mask featuring a set of horns, along with a raggedy robe sown from slitherbeast hair. Combined with thick gloves and a muddy pair of boots, the stranger’s identity was completely concealed.

“You’re at a crossroad right now,” the stranger calmly explained, tapping his machine-like staff for emphasis. “You can release him and return what you stole. Repent your abuses of power and return to the innocence that the Titan granted-”

Belshazzar’s fist became like an axe and sliced through the stranger. His bisected body toppled onto the grass, then promptly dissolved into nothing. He appeared a few steps away, completely unharmed by the attack.

“How unfortunate that you wasted your chance,” the stranger said.

Snarling, Belshazzar launched himself at the stranger. The unknown witch’s staff glowed red just before each swing would land, placing him just out of harm’s way. His opponent summoned copies of himself once more, surrounding the stranger like he had done to the orchard owner.

“Enough of your lecturing!” Belshazzar roared. “Time to die!”

Every illusionary copy charged at the stranger, axe-hands bearing down on him. The stranger passed through the copies unharmed and slammed his staff on the ground – and a pillar of ice shot up, smashing against Belshazzar’s jaw. The massive witch reeled back, clenching his mouth in shock and anger.

Enraged, Belshazzar summoned a pair of whip-like thorns in his hands and ran at his foe. The stranger held his staff in the air. As it glowed, apples plucked themselves from the surrounding trees and floated around him. They held their position until the wild witch was within striking distance, then immediately hurled themselves at him at devastating speeds.

The scene was almost comical: a wild witch who struck fear into his victims being pelted and driven back by a steady stream of fruit. He sputtered and spat with every impact that blasted apple seeds and skin across his body. Before long, Belshazzar had been knocked to the ground, covered in bruises and doused in the remains of countless apples.

“Had enough?”

The wild witch looked at his attacker, then at himself. He had been driven to his knees by some freak hiding behind a mask. He had been brought down by _apples_ – not fire, not ice, not even lethal winds. It forced a whimper from his lips. It was humiliating. Indecent. Infuriating.

“ _How dare you look down upon me!_ ”

A massive clump of thorns appeared from Belshazzar’s spell circle. The stranger had no time to react as it slammed down on him. His mask took the brunt of the damage, though dark splotches now decorated his robe as well.

The stranger held a hand against his damaged mask. On his hands and knees, he no longer seemed so invulnerable. Belshazzar smirked as he approached him, ready to deal a finishing blow to his opponent.

To his surprise, the stranger appeared to _laugh_.

“What a shame.”

As the stranger rose to his feet, a jagged gash on his mask became apparent. A single blue eye glared through the hole, piercing in its intensity.

“I offered you mercy, and you chose to slap my hand away.” The stranger clucked his tongue loudly. “You truly are a wild witch through-and-through.”

Belshazzar readied another strike with his thorns. At once, he was met with a barrage of attacks: a witch-sized worm biting down on his leg, a trio of disembodied hands bashing his arm against the barn’s wall, and a shovel slamming itself against the back of his knees. Every blow brought out a new cry of pain from his lips.

The stranger slowly approached him, his staff glowing a dark red to maintain the attacks. While Belshazzar struggled uselessly against the supernatural forces, his opponent pressed the tip of his staff against his chest.

“Make it stop!” the wild witch cried.

The stranger’s staff began emanating a deafening buzz. The creatures assailing Belshazzar vanished, leaving the wild witch staring down the magical tool powering up in front of him.

“Okay.”

All at once, the noise ceased. A great flash of light, which could be seen as far as Bonesborough itself, appeared in the sky.

The orchard owner uncovered his eyes. The stranger still stood where he was, but a stone statue had taken the place of Belshazzar.

Seth gasped aloud. The wild witch had been petrified. Belshazzar was as good as dead now – no one survived petrification, not even the mightiest of witches.

The stranger fell to his knees, weakly grasping at the corner of the barn for support. Coming to his senses, Seth helped him onto his feet and eased him onto a nearby bench.

“I hope you are alright,” the stranger hoarsely told him. “I apologize for using your produce in such a juvenile manner. I had hoped it would shame him into submission.”

“Am I alright? I should be asking you that! And thanking you – I can’t believe what you’ve done! Belshazzar had been giving me and the other boys out here so much grief! What you did was like some sort of miracle!”

For the second time that night, the stranger actually laughed. “I suppose you could say that. All I am doing is the Titan’s will. He calls for an end to this era of wild witches exploiting the innocent.”

Seth left to fetch him some food and medical supplies, but when he returned, the stranger was already back on his feet. The orchard owner frantically followed after him.

“Look, I know I wasn’t of much help back there, but let me repay you. Anything you want, anything you need, I’ll lend it to you. Just say the word.”

Cupping the chin of his mask, the stranger’s exposed eye glanced around the yard curiously. One gloved finger pointed to the wagon parked beside the barn. “Help me load the petrified witch on there. I will need to bring him with me.”

“It’d be my pleasure, mister…”

Seth could almost hear a smile in the stranger’s voice when he spoke.

“Belos. You can call me Belos.”

* * *

At daybreak, Bonesborough was greeted by a sight unlike any other: a masked figure hauling a petrified witch into town on a rickety old wagon. People stopped and stared at the baffling image before them. Vendors dropped coins from their hands and travelers tripped over themselves as the duo crossed their paths. The bustling hub of commerce ground to a halt at the stranger’s arrival. Everyone waited to see what he had planned for the town.

When he reached the town square, Belos rested the wagon against a nearby fountain. Cobblestone paths and brick buildings surrounded him as far as his eyes could see. As he stood beside the petrified body of Belshazzar, he noticed more witches steadily emerging from streets and alleys to see him.

The silence hanging over them was tense. Belos knew that his audience expected something grandiose from his arrival. He would deliver on that promise, even if it wouldn’t be the sort of spectacle they thought they would get.

It was a good thing he had repaired his mask before coming into town. He needed the town’s attention focused on his words, not on his deformities.

The crowd had swelled from dozens of people gathered to hundreds. Their hushed whispers wafted over to his ears.

“Who’s that guy on the fountain? What’s with the mask?”

“Is that really Belshazzar?”

“It can’t be, no one’s strong enough to take him down!”

“He isn’t actually… _petrified_ , is he?”

Belos decided to quash their rumors before they could spread any further. Amplifying his voice with his staff, he stretched his arms to the sky and addressed them.

“Good people of Bonesborough, my name is Belos. The Titan has sent me here to deliver his holy decree – today marks the start of a new era! You have allowed yourselves to become complacent to the corruption and abuse surrounding you. Witches are robbed and harassed by those more powerful than them, yet no one lifts a finger to intervene. Disgusting perversions of magic like necromancy and possession are openly tolerated. Who creates all of this suffering, you might ask? The answer is in front of you: wild witches!”

A few protests and outcries were shouted out from within the crowd. Emotions visibly ran wild on the people gathered that day. Some averted their eyes and clutched their collars, apparently ashamed of falling under Belos’s condemnation. Others grunted angrily and glared at Belos, waiting to hear how else the masked witch might offend them. Most held their tongues and awaited what Belos would say next.

“Before you are the petrified remains of Belshazzar, a wild witch who preyed on farmers living on the edge of Bonesborough. He was punished not by my will, but by that of the Titan! He has spoken his sacred word to me. It is time for us to reject wild magic, to reject the brutality and monstrousness it spreads! We must return to the innocence and grace that the Titan first molded us in!”

The crowd squabbled among themselves at his declaration. They knew the stories about the Titan and his bones, but to say that he _spoke_ to a single witch? To some, it came across as impossible or absurd.

And then there was the matter of wild witches, who had become untouchable and all-powerful in the eyes of their followers. As long as people kept their noses to the ground and did what they were told, no harm came to them. Following the orders of wild witches had been engrained into many citizens’ lives; who were they to challenge the natural order of things?

As the debates became more heated and tensions flared, a man and a woman pushed through the front of the crowd. Both were young adults, and judging by the multi-colored sleeves on their outfits, they were vocal wild witches.

“This fellow is insane!” the man sneered, his handsome features contorting in cruel angles. “His head is filled with the dreams of a madman! ‘The will of the Titan,’ bah – you’re just a lunatic who petrified an innocent witch!”

“Here, here!” some of the crowd cried in agreement.

The witch beside him, a wild-looking woman with unkempt hair and bone ornaments on her clothes, joined in the argument. “Weiss is right! This Belos is nothing but a crazed killer talking to voices in his head!”

Even more of the spectators made their voices heard. “Go, Sierra! Go, Weiss! Punish him!”

Belos nearly stumbled back in fear. He hadn’t expected convincing the witches to be easy, but he had never dreamed that they would turn on him so quickly. Struggling to maintain his composure – and thankful that his frightened expression was hidden behind his mask – he tried to rally the crowd to his side once more.

“The Titan’s will is just and true!” Belos shouted. “He wants what is best for the Boiling Isles, and he has sent me as his messenger! Limiting our use of magic helps us recognize its purity and grace – you must understand this!”

As Weiss and Sierra approached Belos, the cruel-looking man cracked his knuckles. A gleam of cold giddiness flashed on his face. He uncorked a potion that, upon hitting the ground, made him vanish.

“If the Titan actually sent you…”

Weiss reappeared without warning in front of Belos.

“…Then let him protect you!”

A fireball struck Belos point-blank in the stomach, throwing him off the wagon and onto the cobblestones. He blindly shot a bolt of lightning at Weiss, but the blast zipped harmlessly through an illusion. Belos struck down two more illusions of the wild witch, and as he took aim at a third, the true Weiss hurled a boiling yellow potion at Belos. The ensuing blast knocked Belos against the brick wall of a bakery, nearly causing it to crumble from the impact.

“Witch’s duel!” the crowd roared. “Witch’s duel!”

Belos barely recovered in time to spot a blood-red wyrm circling above him. Riding the sky serpent’s back, Sierra directed it to dive at Belos. He hurriedly dodged one attack, then another, and found himself face-to-face with the illusions of Weiss again. Each one held more explosive potions.

“Want to try that again?” they mockingly asked him.

There were no apparent defects in the copies of Weiss. Belos couldn’t tell the real one apart as easily as he could for Belshazzar. His illusions were crude and missing crucial details, while each copy of Weiss was as identical as the next.

They all threw their potions, illusionary or otherwise, leading Belos to teleport himself out of their blast radius…and right into the jaws of Sierra’s wyrm. Her eyes were aglow with magical energy as her beast dragged Belos into the air.

Oracle magic…that’s how she was predicting his moves so easily. Sierra was seeing his future attacks and getting one step ahead of him, leading Belos into a crossfire he couldn’t avoid.

His next spells were frantic, unrefined. He teleported them back onto the ground, pummeled the wyrm with a blunt-force ice attack, and hurled a sweeping pattern of fireballs at Weiss’s illusions. The cruel witch smashed another boiling potion at his feet and disappeared.

Amid the chaos, Belos heard the subtle clattering of shoes against stonework. He backed up a few steps, gripped his staff tighter, and swung it as hard as he could in front of him.

A now-visible Weiss tumbled onto the ground. One of the wild witch’s fangs was knocked loose and shattered upon hitting the ground. 

Sierra charged him with a bone dagger in hand. Her first few slices were wild and unpracticed, but every swing got closer to Belos. He caught her arm as she attempted an overhead stabbing maneuver. A kick to her shins made her lose her balance, and Belos soon had the upper hand in the struggle. He forced the knife out of her grasp and, hoping to outdo her foresight, threw a spontaneous punch straight into her nose.

Sierra let loose an animalistic growl. Powering through their injuries, she and Weiss reunited and began creating spell circles.

“Prophesy _this!_ ” she shrieked with all her might.

Copies of Weiss flooded the town square. Potions crashed all around Belos – some melting through the cobblestones, others starting intense fires, and a few even creating abominations from their purple goo. Sierra’s wyrm recovered from its battering and flew at Belos.

Teleporting away landed him in a blob of acid, nearly eating the clothes off his back before he escaped. Weiss’s abominations cornered him, lashing out at him with their long arms. They stood nearly as tall as the buildings around him. Belos melted down one after another with fire magic. He could barely see ahead of him until the last one dissolved, at which point he came face-to-face with the wyrm’s powerful tail.

The beast slammed him into one wall after another. Homes and livelihoods crashed down around him, but neither wild witch seemed to care. Sierra whistled to her wyrm, and the creature grabbed Belos in its mighty jaws. It took all of Belos’s magical might to stop the wyrm from crunching down on him.

Titan above, they were actually going to kill him, weren’t they? They had every intention of murdering him in front of a full crowd of people. He would be an example to any naysayers. “Disobey us,” the wild witches would say, “and you’ll end up like that poor fool Belos.”

In that moment of realization, Belos panicked. As the wyrm’s teeth dug deeper into his clothes and skin, he charged a teleportation spell and aimed it well out of the city. A cry of exertion left him as he held the creature’s jaw in place, leaving him with just enough time to disappear before it would crush him.

* * *

Belos reappeared along a forested cliffside on the outskirts of Bonesborough. He thought of his attempt to spread the Titan’s word – and how miserably he had failed at his divine duty. Falling to his knees, the messenger of the Titan hung his head in shame.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lesson learned: having great powers can only get you so far if you don't have much experience using them. Skill can triumph over raw power in the right circumstances.
> 
> I'm curious on how people feel about my take on Belos. Is he close to how he was depicted in the show? There is a significant time gap between this and the show, so I tried to capture some of his authoritativeness and determination while making him somewhat less confident overall. Hopefully, it did the trick and made his younger self seem genuine to his canon counterpart.


	2. A New One Begins

_The Book of Titan, chapter 3, verses 1-11:_

_The flight from Bonesborough left Belos exhausted. Weary from his experiences, he rested under the shade of a Grom tree, watching as the pink leaves above him blew in the wind._

_“Even this tree would serve the Titan better than me!” Belos lamented. “It never wilts or buckles in the face of a mighty wind. Yet here I am, hiding from my people like a cowardly snagglebeast.”_

_He sat under that tree for hours, waiting for the Titan to smite him for his failure. When he awoke, he found a jug of water by his side. He drank it and slept once more. The second time he was roused from his slumber, a loaf of bread lay before him._

_Just as Belos was prepared to question his good fortune, a voice emerged from the clouds above the Boiling Isles._

_“Did you think me cruel enough to destroy you? Truly, I tell you, I have not returned to this land to condemn it, but to save it. My people may be stiff-necked and callous, but I love all of them dearly – including you, Belos.”_

_At this, Belos wept and praised the Titan for his mercy. He ate until he was satisfied, and then set out to continue his journey, where he hoped to spread the Titan’s message to the edges of the Boiling Isles._

* * *

Belos wandered the edge of the Boiling Isles for some time, contemplating his defeat at Bonesborough and where he could take his ministry next. The isolation granted him the chance to clear his head and meditate on the most important things in his life. He followed the shoreline along its windy path, unsure of his destination but confident that the Titan would guide him. On some occasions, he would spend hours meditating on the Titan’s word. The waves would crash around him, but he would pay them no mind.

He passed many unusual sights: trash slugs nursing their young and spitting up garbage from worlds beyond his own, pale white razorgulls gutting fish in mid-air with their blade-like wings, and broken palismans washing up on shore. He quickly realized how little he had seen of the Boiling Isles outside of his home. To truly understand its people, he would need to travel throughout the land. Only then would he be able to relate to the witches he wanted to protect.

When the shoreline came to an end, Belos found himself back on the outskirts of Bonesborough once more. As he returned to the apple orchard where he had petrified his first wild witch, he realized that others had been waiting there for him. A few dozen witches approached him in cautious wonderment. The heavyset orchard owner from the night before was at the front of the pack.

“Belos, sir?” he nervously said. “You remember me, right? Seth, the guy you saved from that Belshazzar thug?”

Belos nodded slowly. “Indeed, I do. I suppose you wish to speak to me?”

“Well, yeah. We, uh…we heard about what those folks did you back in town. How they ran you out after showing ‘em up.” He coughed into his sleeve. “It’s not right! That wild witch had been making us miserable for months. He got what was coming to him.” Waving at the masses around him, he said, “I got talking to the fellas here, and if the city witches don’t want to hear what you gotta say, then we do. Tell us what the Titan wanted everybody to know.”

Belos was completely stunned. To go from being driven out of town for his preaching to being encouraged to continue it…it made his spirits rise once more. He thanked the Titan for giving him this opportunity to fulfill his holy duty.

“Very well. Gather around me. I have much to tell.”

Witches of all species and races formed a circle around Belos, sitting and watching him in quiet amazement. Belos stood atop a tree stump and raised his arms, then began preaching.

He told the crowd of the Titan’s revelations to him, how witches couldn’t tell right from wrong anymore and were abusing their magical gifts. To pursue one field of magic was to recognize the purity and sanctity of the Titan’s gifts to witches everywhere. He decried the wild witches who used their powers for ill-gotten gain or petty amusement, promising swift retribution to any one of those evildoers who wouldn’t repent.

No one interrupted his sermon or argued against him. Any questions asked simply sought a better understanding of the Titan’s message. Belos realized that these people had desired change for some time now, and that his ministry gave them a chance to make it happen.

Some of the witches admitted their mixing of magic and experiments with combining spells. Instead of trumpeting their misdeeds, they apologized for going against the Titan and asked how to atone for them. Belos offered a solution: sealing away all other forms of magic but their strongest skill, preventing them from ever falling into wild witchcraft again.

Thirty-six witches had gathered to hear Belos preach, and that same number walked away bearing his magical seal. As they departed for their farms and cottages, Belos reminded them to spread the Titan’s word, and to never lose faith in the face of wickedness.

It was a small start, but every redeemed soul mattered to Belos. He wouldn’t rest until the entire Boiling Isles knew of the Titan’s will.

* * *

Belos’s travels took him far from Bonesborough, into the forested region of Maseratiphoïde. He sought out powerful witches to recruit to his cause. Not just any witches, though – ones who were pure of heart and would accept the Titan’s will. He ignored the warlords holed up in their castles and encampments, instead choosing to visit out-of-the way places where decent folk might be hiding.

He also added a cape to his choice of clothing. Though its red hue had faded, it captured the power and grace of the Titan in Belos’s eyes. On it stayed, no matter how ratty it may seem to onlookers.

In a quaint laboratory deep in the woods, Belos found the first target of his search: a young potion master named Albert. Many weeks spent researching potions indoors had left him pale and somewhat ghostly. His beard was messy and in desperate need of grooming. His hands were stained with the residue of numerous potion ingredients.

To Belos, he was a perfect choice for a disciple.

“What do you want?” Albert grumbled after answering the door. He clearly didn’t know what to make of the masked, dirty-looking witch at his doorstep.

Belos extended his arms to the potion master. “I have come to share the word of our lord and savior, the Titan-”

An explosive potion crashed a close distance from Belos, blasting him off his feet and leaving a 10-foot crater in the earthy soil. Albert slammed the front door to his lab in a hurry.

“Whatever cultist nonsense you’re pushing, I’m not interested!” Albert shouted through the windows. “I’ll throw another potion if you don’t leave this instant!”

In response, Belos simply brushed the dust and leaves off his robes. “Very well,” he said to the potion master, and left without another word.

* * *

He promptly returned at the same time the next day, bringing the same message as before. Albert backed up into his home, momentarily stunned, and then hurled another potion at Belos. The preacher dodged its blast, which released a noxious cloud that brought down any creature careless enough to inhale its fumes.

“You again?” Albert cried in disbelief. “I told you to get off my property! What don’t you understand about that!”

“What you do not understand,” Belos calmly explained, rising to his feet, “is that the Titan has sent me here for a purpose. He needs the strongest and most devout witches to spread his good news across the Boiling Isles. You could do so much good by joining me!”

“Stuff it, buddy! I’m not going on any quest with a freak like you!”

A black potion shattered against the ground. Belos ducked behind a tree as the potion shot forth a shower of nails, only flinching when one would strike the bark in front of him.

“I understand your concerns,” Belos said when the attack finished. “I will leave you alone to think on the matter further.”

“Good. Don’t come back.”

* * *

Belos came back. In fact, he came back every day at the same time afterward. For two weeks this went on, with the Titan’s messenger narrowly avoiding one lethal potion after another. Albert repeatedly refused to join Belos, though his dismissals became less spirited as time went on. Belos could tell that he hadn’t expected such obstinance from his visitor. Perseverance was a crucial part of serving the Titan, though, and he refused to let a powerful witch like Albert waste his skills cooped up in a laboratory.

There was no greeting or warning to get out when Belos arrived at the laboratory. Once he had set foot on Albert’s property, he unintentionally set off an explosive potion that charred his cape and destroyed a nearby tree. Three more potions buried in the ground went off, each one spewing out their own lethal projectiles.

But Belos hadn’t been ignoring the lessons that Albert’s attacks had offered. Every time a new potion had been used on him, he made note of its appearance and effects for future reference. When Albert had repeated one of his previous spells the day before, Belos suspected that he had run out of tricks to use on him.

It was time to put that theory into action.

Belos created a shield under his feet and leapt over the traps, relieved that his spell held up against the sharpened quills, icicles, and spiders hurled at him. A fire potion swung toward him from the rooftop, which he deflected into the crater left from his first visit.

With the grace of a traveling salesman, Belos rapped on the door. He counted down from three and promptly ducked, narrowly avoiding an acid-filled potion that launched from the now-open entrance to the laboratory.

“Are you serious?” Albert cried from within the building. “You keep coming! Why won’t you stop? Why won’t you leave me alone?”

“As I said, the Titan has need of your skills,” Belos responded. “You are a gifted witch, Albert. Your help would be instrumental in spreading the Titan’s holy word across the Boiling Isles.”

Without waiting for an invitation, Belos stepped inside. The scents of limestone and sulfur filled the air of the laboratory. He saw crates of ingredients lining the walls, some of which had already been cracked open. An advanced alchemy stood on a table in the center of the living room. The walls had their fair share of scorch marks and stains, likely from failed experiments with potion-making. There were very few personal commodities in the building, aside from a sleeping bag stuffed in the corner and a squat kitchen near the back entrance.

Lost in his assessment of Albert’s home, Belos barely noticed the potion master sneak up on him, a pair of ice tonics in his hands. One struck Belos’s arm, freezing it and his staff against the wall. He reacted just in time to create a fire spell circle, destroying the other potion before it could fully entrap him.

“ _Get out!_ I’m sick of you interfering with my work! Can’t you see I’m happy here?”

Belos raised an eyebrow at his comment, though it went unnoticed under his mask. “No. On the contrary, you seem lonely and angry at the world.”

“That-that’s not true! I’m only angry because of you, and I’m not lonely! I have…my potions…” he weakly countered him.

“You’re craving a purpose for living. These fruitless studies of yours will never satisfy that desire. I can give you one from the Titan himself.”

Albert growled at Belos’s comments. “Enough of this!” he cried. He downed a bright green potion in a thin container; Belos recognized it as a strength-giving berserker tonic. Albert let out a mighty yell as he ran at Belos, fists clenched and ready to do some damage.

One missed punch broke through the wall beside Belos. He frantically ducked and weaved around the potion master’s supercharged attacks. Another punch broke the supports around Belos’s frozen arm, finally allowing him to move it from where it had been trapped. Albert threw a wild haymaker at Belos’s chest, only for the preacher to block it with the ice coating his arm and staff. The freezing spell shattered completely.

Albert was no physical fighter, and it showed in his attempts at boxing. They were slow and blatantly obvious in his movements. He might have gained the strength of ten men, but it wouldn’t make a difference if he couldn’t land a hit on Belos.

Charging his staff, Belos teleported around Albert. A quick frost spell encased the potion maker’s legs in the same ice that had trapped him. Another flare from the staff looped two red strings around Albert’s shoulders and tied them to the ceiling rafters.

Belos circled around his prisoner. “You have a choice,” he told him. “Use your temporary strength to break free from your bindings – and bring down your home on top of us. Alternatively, you could listen to me for once.”

Albert looked around at the spells trapping him, grunted loudly in anger…and let out a defeated sigh. “Why do you care so much about me?” he muttered. “You could find plenty of other potion makers around the Boiling Isles. What do I matter in the grand scheme of things?”

“Everyone matters, Albert. No matter how powerful they are, every creature serves its purpose in the Titan’s will.” He cupped Albert’s chin in his hand. “There is a great change coming to the Isles. I want you to be beside me when it happens.”

Albert remained silent and averted his eyes. Belos figured that he should appeal to him further.

“I can offer you protection. Any wild witches, like the ones you live in hiding from, will face reprisal if they target you. I could also raise funds for whatever alchemic ingredients you need.”

His offer quickly got Albert’s attention. The potion master seemed to consider Belos’s request more seriously now.

“Turning you away hasn’t done me any good,” he said. “Maybe it’d be a nice change of pace to go along with your idea. It’d be nice to travel around without worrying about wild witches mugging me, too.”

“Is that a yes, then?”

“Only if you explain yourself and this Titan business you keep going on about.”

Belos immediately freed Albert from his restraints. He slipped a chair under him before he could fall, then stood before him at his full height. He could feel the Titan’s approval flowing through him, inspiring him to speak his holy word.

“That, my friend, is a long story,” Belos commented. “Fortunately, you and I have plenty of time to spare.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emperor Belos, the traveling door-to-door salesman. Could you imagine it? *shudders*


	3. Come Wisdom and Come Fire

_The Book of Titan, chapter 7, verses 7-15:_

_“…Who is this man,” the wild witches grumbled, “who claims to speak to the Titan’s bones? What gives this farmer the right to look down upon our ways?”_

_Belos heard their voices among the crowd and addressed them. “Why do you hide among the innocent and corrupt them with your lies? Only the most powerful witches can use wild magic, and they do so to abuse the weak and innocent. You act like saviors of the common man in the daylight, but you bully and rob him in the night!”_

_At this, the witches became indignant. They rallied their followers to cast Belos out of their settlement. When he left their town, kicking the dust off his feet as he walked, he saw a multitude of people waiting for him. Carpenters, healers, gardeners, oracles, and numerous other magical creatures stood before him._

_As he passed, the crowd bowed their heads and raised two fingers pressed together against their faces. Recognizing the gesture of the faithful ones, the Titan was overcome with fondness for those gathered around Belos. The Titan inspired Belos to speak to the group._

_“Truly, I tell you, all of you are under the Titan’s protection. Anyone who harms you or your loved ones will face grievous reprisal!”_

* * *

Being a bard meant knowing when to sing your bile sac out and when to keep your mouth shut. Some crowds loved the rowdy and adventurous tunes that bards created, even if they were at the receiving end of its barbs. Not everyone had good humor, though, so a smart bard knew when to stop the music and slink off into the night.

Bartholomew was not a smart bard. Instead of listening to his own advice, he had belt out a shanty about the plagues affecting his hometown. One plague in particular was a necromancer and wild witch named Opal, who regularly collected money from local businesses in exchange for protection. “Protection from what?” you might ask. Well, the hordes of undead lurking outside the town…which she suspiciously denied having any control over. He had made the mistake of calling her out by name without realizing she had been sitting in the crowd.

In his defense, it _had_ been a big crowd. There were all sorts of folk in the tavern that night, like a dog-witch, a man in a strange wooden mask, and so on.

One thing had led to another, and he ended up surrounded by reanimated skeletons and a furious witch near the cliffside of the town. He had fled through towering trees with red and orange leaves in hopes of losing them, but his pursuers had been persistent. They drove him all the way to the rocky hills overlooking a shallow river. With only his lute and some spells to protect him, he wasn’t optimistic about coming out of their standoff in one piece.

“You should’ve kept your trap shut!” Opal shouted over the groans of her skeleton army. “I’ve got a reputation to keep, and I’m not gonna let a nosy bard like you screw it up!”

The teal-haired witch had a sickly oak staff in one hand and a short sword in another. Her skeletons carried all sorts of farming tools like pitchforks and scythes. Bartholomew, meanwhile, had no reinforcements, a half-broken pair of glasses dangling from his nose, and a 13-to-1 disadvantage. Again, his odds weren’t favorable.

“Any chance you’ll hash this out with me?” he sheepishly asked. “I could spin a new tale about your heroics – like sparing a bard who had wronged you!”

“Not a chance,” she growled. “You’re too much of a liability to be left alive.”

Bartholomew nervously gulped, stepping back and nearly pushing over the edge of the steep cliff. A rocky river ran at the bottom of the drop, making a jump too risky to pull off. This had been his favorite spot to set aside time for himself and think, but now it would become his grave.

He resigned himself to defeat. “Well, it was a good run. A jolly good one, if I do say so myself. I just wish I could’ve seen more of the Boiling Isles before being rubbed out.”

The skeletons slowly advanced on him. Opal clearly savored the chance she got to strike fear into him before cutting him down. He clutched his lute tighter to his chest, preparing to make a fruitless last stand against his attackers. As the noises of bones creaking and clattering came closer, Bartholomew made peace with his situation and readied the first swing of his instrument.

The _crack_ of an explosive potion made him rear back as it tore apart one of the skeletons. When the dust settled, two male witches stood between the necromancer’s army and him.

“Necromancy is a crime against the Titan himself,” the masked witch coldly noted in an authoritative tone. “You should be ashamed of yourself for enslaving the dead.”

The bard vaguely recognized the speaker from the previous night’s performance at the tavern. Had he been watching over him this entire time?

Opal looked as shocked as Bartholomew felt. “Who in the – forget it, I’m not afraid of your pathetic friends! I don’t care who you are, because you’re all going in the same grave as your bard pal over there!”

The masked witch got into a fighting stance. His more normal-looking companion, a witch with a messy beard and hairstyle, turned to Bartholomew. “Is she right? You’re a bard, then?”

“I mean, I am, but who _are_ you people?” he cried. “I’ve never seen you in all my years!”

“I’m Albert, and that’s Belos. Just know that we go after wild witches like her.” Pausing for a moment, he added, “Oh, and if you have any battle melodies, I’d suggest singing them. We might need some support for this one.”

As her skeletons charged at the new arrivals, Opal summoned a continuous energy beam that forced Belos to shield himself. Albert unhooked potions from his belt and used them against the skeletons, breaking their bony legs under traps or blasting the weapons out of their hands. Still, they kept coming, some even dragging themselves by their hands to get to Belos and Albert.

Bartholomew didn’t question his stroke of good fortune any longer. Plucking away at the strings, he created a frantic melody that captured the unorthodox battle before him. He synchronized his music with the maneuvers of Belos and Albert, tapping into his own magical reserves to enhance their abilities.

The song picked up in intensity. Belos broke from the beam struggle and dodged out of the way, smashing back two skeletons with well-aimed swings of his staff. Albert froze a skeleton in place and shattered it with a flurry of nails, shattering the undead creature inside.

Infuriated, Opal fired a barrage of fire spells at Bartholomew. In tune with the music, Belos slid in the way and repelled the fireballs one-by-one. He struck the ground, and with a shudder, the grass opened and swallowed several skeletons whole.

The bard couldn’t help but do a little jig as he played. One skeleton slipped through the line of defense, only to be dismantled by Bartholomew himself with some rapid-fire kicks to its joints. With the release of a fire potion over their heads, the remaining skeleton warriors were utterly incinerated. The cliffside was littered with patches of burnt grass and scattered bones.

“May you return to your eternal slumber,” Belos addressed the remains of the undead. Turning his head to Opal, he said, “As for you…you have a great deal to answer for.”

Opal could barely speak. She stuttered, glancing back and forth at her defeated minions in disbelief. It was as if she hadn’t come to terms with losing yet.

“Like-like I’m going to answer for anything!” she shrieked, launching another burst of energy at Belos.

The masked witch’s staff flared, and he vanished entirely. Opal held her staff close, obviously anticipating an attack of some sort. Still, she hadn’t been prepared for him to reappear a few steps from her. An ungraceful yelp escaped her as Belos knocked away her staff and bound her hands together with magical red strings.

“You were prepared to murder a man simply for calling out your crimes,” Belos grimly commented. “Ask yourself this: if our roles were reversed, would you show me any mercy?”

Even in defeat, Opal remained defiant. Throwing her bangs out of the way, she glared up at Belos and snarled, “What kinda question is that? Of course not! I’d toss you into the river along with your precious buddies over there!”

Nodding, Belos loudly declared, “So be it.”

There was a blinding flash that stunned Bartholomew. When his vision returned, Belos had fallen to his knees – and Opal had been petrified, her final expression showing her shock and anger.

The bard couldn’t believe it. Opal, the wild witch of his hometown, the terrible necromancer, had been taken down. No one would ever have to worry about her undead hordes or her protection scam anymore. He was safe now; the whole town was safe!

And, as Albert helped Belos back onto his feet with some sort of rejuvenation potion, Bartholomew recognized who had saved them. He threw himself to his knees in front of them and reverently kissed their feet. A few mouthfuls of dirt and grime made him second-guess that approach, so he resorted to thanking them profusely for what they had done.

Belos, however, shrugged off his appreciative gestures. “You should thank the Titan, not his messengers. We were merely exercising his holy will on the Isles. Wild witchcraft and its offshoots must be put to an end for the sake of all witches.”

“Then teach me how to thank him!” Bartholomew insisted. “What you did was nothing short of a miracle for our lot. If following the Titan means helping poor saps like me and the boys around town, then I want in. I’d be happy to serve him.”

Belos’s expressions were as unreadable as ever, but Albert seemed to consider his offer seriously. Bartholomew hoped that his performance during the fight would put some points in his favor. Bard magic was often underappreciated, but in action it could make all the difference between victory and defeat. It empowered the magical abilities of others through music, with different tempos affecting what got improved.

Plus, it sounded cool to have a song accompanying a fight.

“It is the Titan’s will to have you join us,” Belos declared, raising the bard onto his feet. “We are searching for powerful witches to aid in our ministry. Your skills would be invaluable to our cause. Are you willing to leave your home behind and be part of our cause?”

Bartholomew nodded vigorously. “Yes, I am. I won’t let you down!”

* * *

True to his word, Bartholomew followed Belos with a religious fervor. In contrast to Albert’s occasional skepticism, Bartholomew fully believed in Belos’s ability to communicate with the Titan. He wrote songs that praised the Titan, outlined the Titan’s wishes for the Boiling Isles, or encouraged witches to find their true ways once more. A few songs were even written about Belos himself. Though Belos would never admit it, owing to his humble attitude, the bard suspected that he greatly enjoyed them.

The trio traveled from town to town in the forested region, preaching to the masses and spreading the Titan’s word to whomever would listen. Witches far and wide came to hear them speak, and although some walked away balking at their claims, most came to believe in Belos and the Titan. Many of them came sought out Belos for his magical seal – so many, in fact, that Albert needed to reinvigorate him with his potions on a few occasions.

Their ministry went beyond merely condemning wild witchcraft. The three would investigate reports of wild witches terrorizing townsfolk or abusing their powers. Confrontations happened, battles were fought, and – more often than not – they left petrified witch criminals in their wake.

On easygoing nights, Bartholomew would sing his hymns at taverns, inns, and town squares. Crowds would come to hear his captivating melodies. Those who weren’t convinced by Belos’s speeches were often won over by the bard’s music. Entranced by his tales of Belos’s heroics and the Titan’s hopes of saving the Boiling Isles, they flocked to Bartholomew after his performances to learn more about Belos’s ministry.

Days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to months. The trio swelled in size, taking in new recruits who were powerful witches, devoted to the Titan, or simply good people hoping to make a difference. Two of their closest followers were Gertrude, a kindly expert in plant magic; and Durin, a dwarf who knew all the ins and outs of construction magic. Their combined knowledge allowed them to aid locals even better than before: Gertrude magically assisted harvests when crops went bad, and Durin built homes for the poor and abandoned that they came across.

Slowly but surely, word spread of their accomplishments and message. If their kind deeds and preaching didn’t garner attention, then their victories over wild witches did. The name “Belos” became synonymous with the change sweeping over the Boiling Isles.

As he and his disciples learned, there was no better way to make enemies than to bring about change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As far as I can remember, bard magic is never really delved into throughout TOH Season 1. I made some educated guesses on what it might do and how it might work.


	4. Set Those Sinners Free

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time for Kikimora to make her debut! I've been looking forward to writing this chapter. It has some more lore that, while not meshing 100% with the fanfic that inspired this one, still fits in fairly well with what we know from the show.

_The Book of Titan, chapter 8, verses 20-24:_

_When he saw the wickedness of the coastal town’s wild witches, Belos felt his heart fill with anger. Storming out into the wildlands, he said to the Titan, “Their abuse of your gifts has gone too far! Let my power build to its boiling point, so that I may erase this settlement from the land!”_

_Instead, the Titan rebuked him. “Have you learned nothing from your ministry? I mourn every life lost to wild magic, including those of the wild witches themselves. Truly, I tell you, one redeemed witch is worth more to me than a hundred petrified heretics!”_

* * *

In the dark forests of Maseratiphoïde, there stood a shadowy fortress decorated with long vines and patches of moss. A moat of spikes surrounded it, with the only way inside being through a drawbridge. It was built with bricks of pure obsidian, further adding to the stronghold’s intimidating design. It had been designed for a witch-king who had lived centuries ago, and it had fallen into disrepair since his demise at the hands of his fellow nobles.

For the first time in countless years, the old castle had been pressed into use once more. Times were changing in the Boiling Isles, and it was becoming apparent that wild witches weren’t as untouchable as they had been. Ever since a certain “holy man” had arrived on the scene, their grip on power had gradually been melted away.

For this reason, a council had been assembled within its confines to address the issue at hand, and it was to be led by the infamous Clan of Ten themselves – a powerful band of wild witches who collaborated on territorial issues and putting down uprisings. They brought with them ample potions and supplies with them in case of a siege, along with more than a few of their “trophies” from past conquests. Through the stained glass windows lining the walls, red-hued light shone in from above them.

As the doors closed and those present gathered around a finely carved dining table, Kikimora realized just how badly this change had impacted her fellow witches. For one thing, the name “Clan of Ten” was no longer accurate – Opal and a few of her associates had been petrified in the months prior, dropping their numbers down to a mere six. On top of that, most of the unaffiliated wild witches who had pledged to attend were also absent. If she had to guess, they likely encountered the same fate.

Not that the surviving Clan members seemed to care, though. They were too busy gorging themselves on fresh Nian meat and downing enough apple blood to let it get to their heads. Their expensive food and gold-plated staffs, armor, and jewelry made them appear overconfident about the threat they were all facing.

With her youthful appearance, short size, and simple choice of white robes, the gremlin-like demon was often mistaken for a child. However, that only applied to her looks; Kikimora felt none of the childlike naivety that her companions shared. They acted as if things would go back to normal once they dealt with Belos and his followers. She knew better – too many people had shifted against wild witchcraft, and witches like their group would need to tone down their antics if they wanted to remain in power.

As Kikimora stared down at the eight wild witches locked in tense debates about how to handle Belos, she got the sinking feeling that any warnings like that would go unheeded.

“We need to take him down publicly!” a cyclops witch called Nazeem cried above the others’ racket. “Killing him secretly would only make him more of a legend. We should come together and overwhelm Belos with our raw power!”

Jiro, a lizard-like demon witch, grumbled at his suggestion. “You’re forgetting that he has his own disciples by his side. It wouldn’t be a fight of nine against one. The Titan only knows how many witches would raise a staff in his defense now…”

A loud snort from Jordie, a dark-skinned witch, cut his comment short. “Don’t tell me you’ve bought into that Titan worship nonsense as well,” she snidely said. “It’s bad enough that my own witches are refusing to pay their usual tributes to me because of it. I don’t need to hear about it from another member of the Clan!”

“Belos didn’t invent Titan worship, you know! Just because he latched onto it doesn’t mean the entire religion should be dismissed. We should be grateful for the Titan’s gift of life on his bones.”

“Shut up, _please_ ,” a gaunt male witch called Ernest shot back. “You’re sounding just like that Belos loon.”

Kikimora could only groan in frustration. Already, they were at each other’s throats! Why couldn’t they get past semantics and focus on the bigger threat at hand?

Hoping to get their attention, she got out of her chair and jumped on top of the table itself. She was now at head-level with the other witches present, though it came at the cost of standing on the cold stonework. She started a small spell to warm her clawed feet and spoke up.

“Friends, I believe we are ignoring the heart of the matter,” she explained. “Belos is turning the public against us using our own actions. Our power has kept weaker witches from speaking out against us, but that advantage no longer exists. Our best chance at survival is through compromise: if we treat our fellow witches with more respect and make peace with Belos, we may maintain our hold on our territories.”

The hall went dead silent. For the briefest of moments, the other wild witches were caught up in contemplation about her proposal. It seemed as if she had finally gotten through to them.

“Absolutely not!”

“No chance! I’m not groveling to that religious nutjob or his buddies!”

“I’d never _degrade_ myself enough to treat the average witch as my equal!”

“Have you lost your mind, Kikimora?”

Kikimora deeply exhaled as the arguments flared up again. It had been worth a shot. Her fellow wild witches were firmly convinced that a show of force was the only way to solve this problem. Either they didn’t realize that the same thought had occurred to Belshazzar, Opal, and the other petrified witches…or they simply didn’t care. They considered themselves to be untouchable and indestructible, but nobody truly was. There was always someone better out there, someone with stronger magical skills or a craftier mind for strategizing. When you came across someone like that, you couldn’t just solve that problem with a fireball or a fist.

Insults flew and opposing points went back and forth for some time, only becoming silenced when the screeching of a powerful spell silenced them. Red smoke suddenly clouded the room, blinding everyone inside. Kikimora focused her own magic and dispelled the clouds, revealing that an additional guest had taken his place at their table.

Cold blue eyes stared back at her through the new arrival’s rough wooden mask. Within moments, every witch assembled recognized his patchwork robes and intimidating, mechanical-looking staff.

“Do I get a say in this discussion?” Belos jokingly asked them.

Participants nearly fell out of their chairs. Swords were drawn. Angry shouts once directed at other witches were now directed at one target. In a matter of moments, the hostility in the room went from generalized to focused. It was evident that murder was on most of the wild witches’ minds.

Kikimora stood at a loss for words. Her stomach had been doing somersaults ever since Belos had made his presence known. The thought of standing up to him had left her feeling fearful before, but seeing him in person made it even more daunting. He was like a giant compared to her…a giant with remarkable magical abilities and a fearless attitude.

She raised her hands up in a frantic, placating gesture. “We can work this out!” she desperately cried. “This is our chance to reach a compromise!”

The other wild witches encroached on Belos, who rose out of his own chair. Spell circles hovered around him, just waiting to unleash their magical power. He glanced over at Kikimora, then at the witches ready to tear into him.

“It seems that your friends have no interest in compromise,” he commented. “Such a shame…”

A quick flash of Belos’s staff created copies of himself around the room. The wild witches, now surrounded by illusions of Belos, each took aim at a separate copy of the preacher. With a ferocious snarl, Jiro charged at the original Belos, his staff having morphed into a vine-covered spear.

“This is for Opal, you madman!” the lizard demon shrieked.

He thrusted his spear into Belos, tearing through his robes and piercing his heart. The masked witch groaned, collapsing to his knees…and then dissolved, leaving behind the body of Nazeem the cyclops. Jiro reeled back, hurriedly pulling his spear from his ally and trying to heal the witch he had unknowingly stabbed.

The room descended into chaos. Belos rapidly changed positions between his illusions, firing off simple destructive spells to destroy magical shields or damage his foes’ enchanted armor. The wild witches used their combined powers to strike down the illusions, but more returned in their place. The true Belos eluded damage each time, frustrating the attackers further.

As Kikimora charged up a spell to clear out the illusions, Jordie released a concussive spell that struck Belos, knocking him against the castle wall. With an excited grin, she aimed for the window and prepared to send him to his doom. She had no time to stop her second spell when the illusion faded away, revealing Ernest underneath its deceptive magic. His body smashed through the stained glass toward the spike-covered moat beneath them.

This was _insane_ , Kikimora thought to herself. Belos was barely putting up a fight, instead letting her allies destroy themselves. Some of the strongest witches she had known had stood in this room, yet they were dropping like flies against this one enemy!

Clapping her hands against her spell circle, Kikimora dispelled the illusions of Belos with a ring of concentrated magic. Unprepared for the exposure, Belos took several good hits from the vines, icicles, and blades of the wild witches. An animalistic growl was let loose, and with another spell from Belos, the red clouds of smoke returned.

The voice of Belos boomed through the fog, like that of an angry spirit haunting its victims. “If violence is the only language you people will speak, then I will gladly oblige you!”

Kikimora cleared out the clouds with another spell. Belos now stood atop the dining table, his staff aimed at her while glowing with charged magic. She quickly threw up a shield to defend herself. His stream of lightning clashed against her shield, forcing her backwards as her defenses cracked under pressure. Her breathing became heavy and her chest tightened as she maintained the spell with everything she had.

Belos disappeared, as did his spell. Her surviving allies’ cries of “behind you!” came too late as she was struck down by a lightning bolt to her back.

The next thing she knew, she was lying on her front on the ground. Her fingers twitched involuntarily from the shock. Every bone in her body ached. It took a great deal of blinking to clear the spots from her eyes.

What she saw in front of her was a massacre in progress. Belos moved quickly and brutally, battling the surviving wild witches all at once. He parried sword swings and cast spells alike, never allowing his six opponents to box him in. His counter-spells blasted at vulnerable places like kneecaps and ankles, knocking down his targets or crippling their abilities to fight back.

Catching the hand of a blade-wielding witch, he drove her sword into Jiro’s chest beside her. He blocked repeated fireballs from Jordie until smoke obscured him, giving Belos the chance to unleash a pillar of ice that hurled her through another window. He encased a third wild witch in vines just as one of her companions tried to immolate Belos. The trapped witch was thrown in the way of the attack, setting her and the vines entangling her ablaze.

It was too much for Kikimora. With what little strength she had, she dragged herself into a nearby linen closet and locked the door behind her. A basked of towels became her hiding place as she dug herself beneath the soft material. Curling up into a ball, she covered her ears, shut her eyes, and begged whatever higher power there was to end the fight.

Some noises still carried through the walls and Kikimora’s attempts to muffle the carnage. Swords clashed against staffs. Magical spells exploded against surfaces. Grunts, roars, and many other exclamations reached her ears, though they were mostly muffled.

As the wild witches’ numbers whittled down, the noises lessened with them. She lost track of who had survived and what had happened outside of the closet. All she knew was that, at some point, the sounds of the witches’ duel stopped entirely. An uncomfortable silence took the place of the dreadful fighting. She was too afraid to speak up and ask what had happened.

“It is over, my brothers and sisters. The Clan of Ten and its supporters have been eradicated.”

Kikimora swore under her breath. Well, _that_ answered her question about the outcome of the battle.

Footsteps echoed up the stairs to the dining room. She heard several other people join Belos. There were gasps and reactions of astonishment when they got near the closet. At first, she became afraid of being discovered, then realized that they had likely found the remains of Kikimora’s fellow wild witches.

Belos instructed the others, his tone calmer than any killer’s voice had any right to be. “Bartholomew, get a song or two ready about my victory here. Word should spread about these sinners being brought to heel. The rest of you, bring the Clan’s valuables out of the castle. We could do plenty of good with the snails they would fetch.”

“Aye. And what will you do, Belos?”

“Remain here, Durin. Pray for the Titan to take mercy on those who fell by my hand. The Titan is rich in kindness, but he has no love lost for the power-hungry and corrupt.”

Aside from the clanging of metal against stone and the shuffling of feet away from the dining room, the brief conversation was followed with relative quiet. Belos’s followers made little noise as they came in and out a few times, probably gathering up the loot left behind by the Clan. The faint murmurings of Belos’s prayers were indecipherable to her. Kikimora breathed in slow, quiet bursts to avoid making her presence known. She didn’t dare get up, fearing that the creaking of the basket would be heard by Belos.

She was utterly alone now. Every witch she knew had been slain, either by Belos or by their own hands. There was nowhere she could go for support now. Her best bet was to run, flee into the wildlands before people started recognizing her as a Clan of Ten associate. If she was lucky, she could scrounge up the snails for a farm and try to live a life of isolation.

Belos’s prayers came to an end. His steps away from the dining table were loud and echoey. He walked past the linen closet…then stopped, his heels scuffing against the floor.

“You can come out now, my dear.”

Kikimora’s heart nearly exploded from shock.

“I know you are in there,” Belos said aloud. “We are alone. I promise that no harm will come to you if you step outside.”

She curled herself even tighter into a ball. This was it for her, wasn’t it? She hadn’t escaped Belos’s notice, and now he was going to finish the job he had started. She would be petrified and left in a town square for all to see – yet another wild witch brought to justice in his crusade.

His tone softened a little. “Would you prefer for me to come in there?” he quietly asked. “I am willing to accommodate you.”

Kikimora couldn’t tell if he was toying with her or being truthful. Either way, she couldn’t take this standoff any longer. With great hesitation, she drew a spell circle and undid the lock that separated her from Belos.

“C-come in. And close the door behind you, please.”

She heard him let out a gentle hum. “Very well.”

The doorknob turned. Kikimora watched with wide eyes as Belos stepped into the closet. As per her wishes, he shut the door as he entered. He sat cross-legged in front of the basket that she gradually lifted herself out of. As she stood before him, their difference in size was apparent: he was more than twice her height.

“You’re quite the resourceful witch,” Belos commented. “Intelligent as well. If your associates had heeded your warnings, they would have survived this encounter.”

Kikimora couldn’t keep fear from creeping into her voice. “What do you want with me?”

“My ministry is always in need of more witches to support the cause. I want you to join me and my disciples as we bring this savage era to an end.”

She hesitated in responding to him. Did she really have a choice? What would happen if she said no…would he just petrify her and be done with it?

“I can tell you aren’t sure whether you can trust me.” He stooped down on one knee and leaned closer to her. “What if I share a secret with you, one that only you and I will know of?”

His words only baffled her further. “Why would you do that?” she asked.

“Consider it a sign of trust. I am willing to put my reputation on the line to win your favor. That is how far I will go to save a wayward soul like yourself.”

Belos’s gloved hands undid the latches securing his mask to his head. One-by-one, they fell away and dangled loosely from its bottom. He gently gripped both sides of it and lifted it from his head, setting it aside on the dusty floor next to him.

Kikimora hadn’t been sure what to expect. At first glance, Belos seemed…normal. He had light brown skin, like those in the southern Boiling Isles often sported. His dark brown hair was bushy, though his beard appeared to be thoroughly maintained. His eyes were strikingly blue, as if they were glowing in the dim light of the closet. He appeared to be younger than she had expected – no older than 30, if her guess was correct.

That’s when she took notice of his ears. They lacked the angular proportions of an ordinary witch’s pair. They were smaller, and more compact, and… _round._ She instinctively raised a hand to touch them, but retracted it in fear of angering Belos. To her surprise, though, the preacher laughed at her behavior.

“No need to be shy,” Belos lightheartedly said. “You can feel them if you want.”

His voice wasn’t as intimidating without the mask filtering it. He sounded and looked more like an average witch now. It was calming to see that he wasn’t some monstrous figure in disguise. As the masses supporting him had said, he was just a simple witch trying to make a better world for his kind. It was a comforting thought for Kikimora to dwell on.

Taking his advice, she reached out and stroked one of his ears. It felt soft and rubbery to the touch. It surprised her how easily the ear twisted and bent under her thumb and forefinger. All the while, Belos wore an amused smile at her antics.

“How long have these been this way?”

“As long as I can remember,” Belos admitted. “When I was still a witchling, I wore a hood whenever I left the house. My first friends called me a freak when they found out about them. No magic could fix the deformities, either. All I could do was hide myself away and live a life of solitude…until, of course, the Titan began whispering his teachings to me.”

It was an odd show of trust – but it was still a serious effort to win her over. Belos clearly wanted her on his side. He had revealed his source of shame without any prompting from her, all just to cement his good intentions. It was more than any of the wild witches had done for her. They had been content with ignoring her ideas and shouting over her when she had tried to assert herself.

Maybe things would be different with Belos. It would be nice to be treated with respect for a change. Besides, she knew which way the winds of change were blowing, and it was clear that wild witches were on the way out.

She offered her hand to Belos, which he firmly shook with a kind smile on his face.

“Wisely done. Kikimora, was it? Would you mind if I call you Kiki?”

Nobody had ever given her a nickname before. Saying it back to herself in her head, she had to admit, it sounded nice. Wordlessly, she gave him a nod of approval.

“Very well. Come along, Kiki. We have a world to remake and many lost souls to shepherd into the light.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I picture Belos as looking relatively Cuban under his mask...minus the glowing blue eyes, of course. Part of it is just my own interpretation of his appearance, and the other is a justification for a plot thread to come.


	5. The Lights Will All Go Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been working on other projects recently, so I had to set this story aside for a while. I don't intend to abandon it. Like "A Line Crossed," I hope to conclude it in a satisfying way. Anyway, on with chapter 5!

_The Book of Titan, chapter 10, verses 5-10_

_“…But how will we know who shares our magic?” the crowds asked Belos. “In the old days, we could learn magic from any witch. These seals make that impossible!”_

_Understanding their concerns, Belos called together his most loyal disciples to come up with a solution. After days of strategizing and organizing, Belos presented a solution to his worried followers: users of the same schools of magic would be organized into distinct groups. This way, Belos reasoned, witches could learn to harness their powers without giving into wild witchcraft._

_This simple order eventually led to the creation of the coven system, which guides the magical development of the Boiling Isles to this day._

* * *

The Knee was one of the most magical locations in the Boiling Isles. Its snow-covered ruins and mountainous landscape exuded an ancient, potent magic believed to originate from the Titan himself. Its picturesque cliffs and dense forests allowed for witches to find solitude and meditate on their progression. Belos himself had come to the Knee for guidance in his early years, when his abilities were limited and his future as a witch seemed bleak. It was a rite of passage for young witches to visit the Knee and listen to the Isles speak.

Of course, this free-flowing magic could be – and often was – exploited by less-scrupulous individuals. Wild witchcraft was rumored to have been born at the Knee, when an ancient witch harnessed its power to gain control over multiple types of magic.

Needless to say, Belos did not appreciate that association one bit. The Knee was a sacred place, a gift from the Titan himself, and wild witches did not deserve a place in its history. Many months after dismantling the Clan of Ten, he and his followers had traveled to the Knee to oust whatever wild witches had taken residence there. It had been a straightforward plan, and it had gone well…up until it hit a building-sized road bump.

A massive, ferocious demon had intervened in their raid and fought tooth and nail to repel them. The dog-like beast stood as tall as Belos’s one-story farmhouse. It had black fur, sharp claws, and a skull worn over its head. Its limbs tore out chunks of the frozen ground and sliced down trees with a single swipe. More worryingly, it had incredible control over magic, and used a variety of spell circles to fight Belos and his followers all by itself.

Its roars summoned devastating blasts of lightning that overwhelmed the best shield spells Belos could summon. Its strength allowed it to tear down the fortifications that Durin would hastily create to buy time for the team. Some of its spells seemed to warp reality itself, disorienting Belos and his disciples by inverting the world or darkening their vision. Only Kikimora’s ability to dispel illusions saved them from losing themselves in the madness of those attacks.

Belos feared that this wasn’t a foe he could overcome, even with the Titan’s gifts and his disciples’ power backing him. A shockwave spell from the demon knocked the team near one of the cliffsides of the knee. Only a timely construction spell by Durin saved them from falling to their deaths. While the demon wailed away at the bunker wall shielding them from danger, Belos gathered his four followers close to him.

“If this fight lasts any longer, this beast will destroy us all,” he noted, trying not to let fear slip into his voice. “I have a plan, but everyone must do exactly as I say for it to pan out.”

The fortifications around them trembled under the demon’s heavy blows. Durin visibly struggled to keep the magically constructed walls intact.

Albert took a cautious look at the distant drop near them. “I’m all out of ideas, so let’s hear yours. Anything’s better than dying in the snow.”

“Bartholomew, Gertrude, be ready to bolster my abilities with your spells. Durin, when I give you the order, lower the bunker wall and bind the demon’s limbs in magical constructs. Albert, once you have a clear shot, blind the beast with your foulest, most poisonous potions on hand.” He lowered his staff and aimed it where the demon would be. “I will banish this creature from the Isles themselves.”

Belos did what he could to clear his mind of fear. He blocked out the roars of their demon assailant and the howls of the icy wind. Concentrating on the magic flowing through his limbs, he channeled more and more of his power into his staff. The red gem sitting within its crescent top glowed with ever-increasing brightness.

His heart pounded heavier with each passing second. The bunker wall began tumbling down, exposing he and his disciples to the demon’s wrath. Its yellow eyes glowered at them in fury. Its front paws drew a pair of fiery spell circles, their mere presence melting the snow around them.

It was time to strike.

Belos struck the creature upside its head while unleashing a concussive spell, batting its skull upwards and forcing the creature away from the cliffside. Durin took advantage of the opening and summoned thick stone arches around each of its limbs, binding it down to the ground. Albert hurled one fizzling potion at the demon after another, paralyzing it under a steady stream of toxins and illness-inducing concoctions.

The demon could do nothing but struggle and roar under the assault. Even then, Belos worried, it wouldn’t be restrained for long. Its limbs twisted and grappled onto Durin’s constructs, damaging them faster than he could repair them. Whatever debilitating diseases Albert was inflicting upon the beast only gave it allergic reactions. Poisons that would end any witch’s life only made the demon sneeze and rub its wet eyes.

He had to be the one to end the fight. Belos placed his staff against the demon’s head and prepared to banish it from the Boiling Isles.

He hadn’t prepared for it to unleash a fire breath spell on him. Belos frantically extinguished the flames on his now-ruined robes and cape, then hastily created a shield to block a second blast from the demon. His knees buckled and power waned under the continuous burst of fire from the creature.

“Bartholomew! Gertrude! I need your power now, or this demon will end us all!”

The two joined Belos side-by-side, Bartholomew breaking into a clumsy song to enhance his abilities while Gertrude fed her magic directly into Belos. It wasn’t a perfect assist, but their support gave him the strength he needed to begin pushing back against the steady stream of fire. Kikimora leapt onto his shoulders and guided him forward, using her own abilities to clear the smoldering air that blurred his sight.

Every step forward was like touching burning coals. Belos’s heart was beating faster than ever under this new strain, but he couldn’t give up now. The Titan called on him to bring justice to the Boiling Isles. He refused to fail his holy mission.

Belos regained the ground lost by the demon’s initial attack. Its eyes went wide with disbelief and fear. Its continuous fire breath fell back to scattered blasts of intense flame. Belos’s shield cracked from the attacks but still held together.

Eye-to-eye with Belos, the demon spoke for the first time.

“No, _no!_ This is not how it should end!” Its voice was deep and booming, like an earthquake whose rumbling could be heard across the land. “Witches and beasts bow to me! I am the king of demons; I will not be defeated by some lowly mages!”

Between his exhausted breaths, Belos uttered back a cold response to the beast.

“Then take pride in knowing that the Titan himself wants you gone from his realm.”

The self-proclaimed demon king fought against its bindings even harder. “My soul is guarded! If you kill me, I will be reborn! I swear it!”

Belos had no time for the creature’s bluster – his magic, and the combined magic of Gertrude and Bartholomew, was running dangerously low. Pressing his staff against the creature’s skull, he said, “Then may you return as a better being than you are now.”

Blinding, purifying light shot out from his staff, completely overtaking the demon. It roared and cried out one last time as it dissolved under the overwhelming display of brightness. When the spell ended, all that remained of the creature were its bones.

Belos looked at his disciples as they gathered around him. They were ragged and worn down – Albert with fresh burn marks, Bartholomew with his partially destroyed lute – but alive. All that mattered was that they survived.

Kikimora climbed down from Belos’s shoulders. “That was an excellent plan of attack, my lord. The Knee is safe from wild witchcraft and that demon’s tyranny thanks to you.”

Belos’s heavy breathing hadn’t stopped. In fact, it had gotten worse since using the finishing spell against the beast. Steadying himself with his staff, he tried to get his heartbeat under control.

_Thump-thump._

“Yes, we have done a great deed for the Isles today.”

_Thump-thump-thump._

“Our fellow witches may return to the Knee and admire its beauty, free from the machinations of the wild witches who once controlled it.”

_Thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump_

A weak, jagged breath left his lips. “I thank the Titan for aiding us in-”

Under the strain of the battle, Belos’s heart finally gave out.

* * *

_The Book of Titan, chapter 11_

_While in a deep slumber, Belos heard a powerful voice compel him. “Rise, my loyal servant, and see the splendor of the Titan in all of his glory.”_

_Belos saw the heavens above open to him. A being unlike any other descended from the clouds. Seven rings circled a large, unblinking eye that floated as if guided by a hovering spell. Its rings were inlaid with gold and marked with dozens of smaller eyes, and they spun gently around its center throughout its descent._

_Belos trembled at the sight of the Titan’s spirit. He tried not to look directly at him, fearful that he may be blinded by its radiance._

_“Do not be afraid,” the Titan commanded him. “I have come to commend you. Your faith in me and devotion to your mission have proven unshakeable. Since you are trustworthy in small matter, I shall entrust you with a greater task to accomplish.”_

_Nervously, Belos allowed himself to face the Titan’s spirit directly. “What greater task could I accomplish than spreading your ministry across the Isles?” he asked._

_“There will come a day when all will need to be as one. On this Day of Unity, you will need to lead the witches of this realm against a greater foe: the Adversary himself. His pride threatens to corrupt even this land. Only through his defeat may true peace be restored to my bones.”_

_After hearing this, Belos became greatly troubled. Who was this Adversary that even the Titan spoke worriedly of? Unwilling to disappoint his master, he asked to be enlightened of this foe’s origins and intentions for the Isles._

_The Titan bestowed a vision of his past upon Belos. All at once, Belos was greeted by the sights and sounds of an ethereal realm beyond description._

_He saw other creatures like the Titan working side-by-side as caretakers of worlds. Guiding their work was a shadowy figure hidden behind a great cloud – the Adversary himself. In a simpler time, the Titan happily served under the Adversary. They collaborated to maintain the numerous worlds below theirs._

_The Titan dutifully maintained a world of magical creatures. He neglected his other duties in his efforts to create a perfect world free of suffering. Secretly, the Titan craved the approval of the beings he had been entrusted to protect. He hoped that they would praise and worship him if he made himself indispensable to them._

_However, the Adversary grew attached to some worlds more than others. He became fixated on repairing a broken, damaged world full of violent people. The Adversary enlisted its inhabitants to serve as his voice on this world, never faltering even when they would be put to death._

_This preferential treatment greatly troubled the Titan. He confronted the Adversary about his worrisome behavior. Instead of discussing their disagreement, the Adversary accused the Titan of being too full of stubborn pride, and of manipulating his assigned world to earn the worship and praise of its peoples. Rising tensions led to the caretakers choosing sides, and with no one to defuse them, their verbal conflict became a physical one._

_The caretakers who had sided with the Adversary emerged victorious from the struggle. The Titan and those loyal to him were cast out of the paradise and branded heretics. Disillusionment and despair destroyed the banished caretakers one-by-one._

_Eventually, the Titan was the last of the rebel caretakers who remained. Alone and defeated, he had resigned himself to his fate. He laid in the Boiling Sea and let the scalding waters consume him. As his body decayed, new land formed atop his bones. Mountains raised, grass bloomed, and magic flowed throughout this land. The Titan’s spirit watched with wonder as his corpse became a wellspring of life._

_When the vision ended, Belos understood what the Titan had asked of him. With the witches of the Boiling Isles united under his banner, he would lead them into the Adversary’s realm and oust the false ruler from his throne. If the Titan rightfully administrated the universe once more, he could create worlds without suffering and hate, places that lived in perpetual bliss and comfortable stagnation._

_Belos knew it would be a difficult task. Nonetheless, he reverently bowed to the Titan’s spirit and said, “It will be accomplished just as you said. This great injustice to you will be undone."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the heavy use of italics in the vision section, but I didn't want to break the rules I had set up for "Book of Titan" entries in previous chapters. If it's any consolation, that will probably be the longest scripture entry in the story.
> 
> The Day of Unity finally got an explanation! If you read between the lines, it should be apparent just exactly what the Titan is and what he's asking of Belos. I'm sure that the show's interpretation of the Day of Unity and the Titan's identity will be different than mine, but it's fun to speculate.


	6. His Soul Was Free From Sin

_The Book of Titan, chapter 13, verses 24-25_

_“…On the Day of Unity, there will be no half-witches or lesser witches,” Belos addressed the crowd. “There will only be the witches of the Boiling Isles acting as one. To achieve the Titan’s will, we must set aside our differences and come together as a unified people.”_

* * *

Belos came to in an unfamiliar place. He looked all around, finding crude medical supplies lying around and a tent surrounding him on all sides. A lumpy mattress shifted with his movements, as did the thin sheets over his body. He still had on his burnt and ruined set of robes and cape under the covers.

His hands immediately flew to his face. A relieved sigh escaped him when he found his wooden mask still in place. As much as he trusted his followers, he wasn’t eager to display his deformed ears for all to see.

The air in the tent lacked the bitter chill found around the Knee. Presumably, his disciples had taken him somewhere outside of that frosty region to treat his injuries. Placing his palm against his chest, he found his heart still beating at an irregular pace.

Great – that little issue hadn’t gone away. He had gotten used to losing his footing and needing help after using petrification spells, but this was another beast entirely. It would be near-impossible to continue his work if his heart remained at risk of failing on him.

“Look who’s finally awake. You had us worried there, you know?”

Belos found Albert standing at the entrance flap of the tent. One by one, his other disciples made their way inside, surrounding his bed. He tried to lift himself out of his sheets only for Gertrude to gently press him back downward.

“Oh no, not yet.” Her kind, soft features were scrunched up in concern. “We can’t have you running off on another crusade. You barely survived that heart attack!”

Those two words alone were enough to stop any of his protests. “Heart attack?” he weakly repeated.

Nodding, Gertrude took a notebook out from the pile of medical supplies and flipped to a middle page. A complex diagram of a male witch’s bones and internal organs was laid out on paper.

“It took hours to stabilize your heart,” she explained. “I’ve treated most witches without issue before, but you…aren’t like most witches. No bile sac, for one point, despite being capable of incredible magic.”

Before Belos could ask, she immediately commented, “I didn’t remove your mask or clothes, I should note. I know how important privacy is to you.”

When he relaxed slightly, she pressed on. “But that power seems to be taxing your body greatly. Whatever you are, Belos, you weren’t designed to channel such immense energy at once. All of those petrifications are adding up. You might not survive casting another powerful spell. If you want my opinion, you should ease off these wild witch confrontations and focus on preaching until your condition improves.”

Desperate panic flooded Belos’s mind. He couldn’t abandon his ministry now! The Titan had displayed its glory to him and bestowed its mission of the Day of Unity on him! He had to unite the Boiling Isles under the Titan’s word…but how would he do that if casting powerful spells risked ending his life?

His gaze turned to the other disciples before him. “Do you agree? Is there no alternative to cutting my fight against wild witchcraft short?”

Kikimora was the first to speak. Climbing onto the foot of his bed, she calmly said, “Your life is more important than any battle or petrification. If you were to die, the people of the Boiling Isles might lose heart and have their faith shattered. Please take care of yourself, Belos.”

“Aye,” Durin agreed. “A proper warrior knows when a fight stops being his. You’ve done so much for the Isles – let us pick up the slack for you.”

When Belos’s eyes met Bartholomew’s, the bard sheepishly smiled and shrugged at him. “This isn’t my expertise. Can’t say I know much about hearts, but yours seems bang out of order.”

Only one of his closest disciples hadn’t spoken up. Albert was sifting through his personal trunk, setting aside magical artifacts and potion ingredients until he found what he needed. Carefully pressed between his hands was a palisman, one carved in the likeness of an otter. Belos couldn’t remember Albert having a palisman like that – it must have been taken during one of their raids on wild witches.

“I, um, may have another solution,” he commented, gently petting the small otter palisman curled in his hands. “It’s purely hypothetical, and there are plenty of risks involved with doing it, and-”

“-Just tell me what it is,” Belos cut him off. “I appreciate the warnings, but I need to know immediately if I have other options.”

“Well, palismans are imbued with powerful magic. They’re carved from materials that naturally contain and augment the magic of any witch using one. Since these attacks of yours are caused by not having enough magic on hand, I figured you could fix that by building up a magical reserve using palismans!”

Belos tilted his head curiously at his suggestion. “I already have a staff, Albert. Would carrying another really make a difference?”

A brief, uncomfortable silence followed. All eyes were on Albert as he nervously scratched the back of his unkempt hair. He looked at the palisman almost guiltily now.

“You wouldn’t use this for a staff. You would…how should I put this? You would extract the magic from the palisman and feed it directly into your body.”

“I’ve never heard of a witch feeding off of a palisman’s magic before,” Kikimora noted aloud. “How would you get to it?”

“Same way as a nut, I suppose. You would, uh, crack it open.”

At this, the otter palisman started squirming around in his hands. It wildly flounced around in a mad effort to break free from his grasp. Albert struggled to keep hold of it, flinching from its growls and frantic hissing.

“It’s easier said than done!” Albert said, barely maintaining his grip on the palisman. “They won’t sit there and let you take them apart!”

Belos’s other disciples didn’t hide their concern about this potential solution. From the way they looked at Albert and his confiscated palisman, it seemed as if they considered his idea to be as repulsive as wild witchcraft.

Belos was grateful that his expression was hidden behind his mask. He would show no partiality while mulling over Albert’s suggestion, the others’ reactions to it, and the implications it would have for his wellbeing.

Feeding off the raw magic of a palisman was nothing short of an extreme risk. There was no known precedent for witches doing it. For all he knew, the sheer infusion of power would poison him and finish the job his heart had started. If there were any alternatives, he would try one of them instead…but he had none. His case was a unique one, and it called for a treatment unlike any other.

A yellow glow encased the otter palisman and levitated it near Belos. His magic froze its movements and left it hovering limply atop his hand.

“Durin, lend me your hammer,” Belos said. His firm tone of voice made it clear that there would be no compromising on this issue.

The dwarf exchanged a brief, concerned glance with Gertrude before complying. A well-used carpenter’s hammer ended up in Belos’s other free hand. Belos ran a thumb over the otter palisman’s head, eliciting a small amount of soothed purrs from the magical creature.

Between its contented murmurs, Belos smashed its head open with the hammer. Wood chips coated the ground along with a few droplets of viscous green fluid. He recognized the substance as the physical manifestation of the palisman’s magic.

Without giving himself time to second-guess his decision, Belos raised the lifeless palisman over his mask and let the fluid drip into the eyeholes. Every drop burned his eyes and made his body seize up. His heart accelerated and then slowed repeatedly.

The sensations were bad enough to make him want to drink the magic instead, but that would require him to take his mask off. He wouldn’t budge on that dilemma, even if he had made an exception to win Kikimora’s trust. The Titan’s messenger needed to be more than a mere witch, and the anonymity his mask gave him helped to solidify that idea. Revealing himself meant putting a face to the movement, one that would be as vulnerable as any other creature on the Boiling Isles.

Or, maybe he was still nervous about showing his deformed features to other witches. It wasn’t like he would ever own up to that, though.

A guttural, beastly roar involuntarily left Belos when every drop of magic had been drained from the palisman. His disciples flinched and stumbled back, staffs raised and magic prepared in case something horrible had happened to him.

When he regained control of himself, Belos slowed his breathing and stretched out his arms. The infusion of magic hadn’t just gotten his heart beating normally, it left him tingling with newfound strength. He couldn’t recall ever feeling this powerful before, even after the Titan had bestowed his grace upon him.

He approached the still-stunned Albert and clasped his hands around the potion master’s. In a rare moment of humility, Belos bowed his head before his first companion.

“Your solution has worked wonders for me. Thank you, my friend.”

A mutual sigh of relief left the other witches present. Belos had remained his old self after all. Whatever worries they shared about him turning feral from a magical overdose faded away.

“Y-you’re welcome,” Albert responded, nervously gulping. “I’m honestly amazed that it worked. That was all hypothetical on my part. Of course, there might be some side effects to worry about – ending up with a massively engorged heart, the magic slowing your aging process, or you needing to replenish your power with more palismans – but we’ll cross those bridges when we get to them.”

“Indeed we will.” Turning to his other disciples, Belos extended his arms and declared, “Give praise to the Titan! It is his will that I continue my ministry throughout the Isles. We will begin our march to Bonesborough tomorrow. The time has come to drive out wild witchcraft and restore peace to the city, just as the Titan intended.”

His other disciples echoed his sentiment, though Gertrude’s voice was laced with more caution than her counterparts’. She bit her lip as her gaze lowered to the broken palisman that had unceremoniously been discarded by Belos. The subtle movement didn’t escape Belos’s notice.

“As for the palisman…know that I took no pleasure in feeding off its magic. If it is necessary for me to consume more, then I will only rely on palismans from confiscated staffs. Only wild witches and other criminals who abuse magic will face that consequence.” Lowering his head, he added, “With that resolved, I will need privacy in this tent. I wish to be alone with my thoughts while I share my prayers of thanksgiving to the Titan.”

Offering occasional well-wishes to Belos, his disciples left through the tent flap one-by-one. Eventually, Belos was the only one remaining in the makeshift medical wing – aside from the short, gremlin-like witch that had stayed behind. Belos had nearly forgotten about Kikimora until a gentle “ahem” from her got his attention.

“My apologies for ignoring you, Kiki. A great deal is on my mind. Did you need something from me?”

“Yes, I do. There is something I need to show you…”

Kikimora walked over to a wooden footlocker nearly as tall as she was. She undid its latch and pushed on its top with all her effort, though it refused to budge.

“If you would,” she grunted during another attempt to move the top, “be so kind as to help me?”

Chuckling, Belos knelt down beside the shorter witch and lifted up its admittedly heavy top. Inside of it was a pile of clothing, though he couldn’t remember any of his disciples wearing it. A golden mask resembling a beetle stood atop an elegant set of white-and-brown robes and gloves. Now that he thought about it, the items looked like something he would wear.

“What do you think of them?” Kikimora curiously asked him.

He turned the mask over in his hands. The robes and gloves looked elegant enough, but the mask put both of them to shame. The elegant detailing, sturdy design, and comfortable-looking interior made his ratty, burnt-up mask seem like literal garbage in comparison.

“They’re beautiful,” he quietly said back. “Who do they belong to?”

“You.” When Belos’s head whipped around toward her in surprise, Kikimora momentarily averted her eyes and let out another slight cough. Her cheeks gained a slight dusting of red as well. “They’re a-a gift. From me. To you. I sold some of the spoils from the Clan of Ten raid to buy those clothes. When we arrive in Bonesborough, you deserve to look the part of the Titan’s messenger.”

Belos nearly stumbled over his words as he tried to respond. He wasn’t used to this kind of generosity, not even from his followers. He usually insisted on witches helping each other with their limited resources – after all, they weren’t the ones receiving aid from the Titan himself. It had been a long, long time since anyone had given him a personal gift.

“Kiki, I couldn’t possibly-”

“-You can, and I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer,” she insisted, still somewhat flustered as she spoke. “Your current clothes are old, and raggedy, and…they don’t do you justice. They make you look like a beggar or a thief, when you’re so much more to me.” Her eyes widened, and she quickly added, “To us, that is. You’re so much more to us and to all of the Boiling Isles.”

Try as he might to deny it, Belos couldn’t fault her logic. He was representing the Titan on the Boiling Isles, so it made sense for him to look his best. Kikimora’s gift was lovely and served the same purpose as his original outfit: maintaining his anonymity while he spread the Titan’s Word across the land.

He gave Kikimora an affectionate pat to the head. For a few moments, her face reddened like a tomato in full bloom, but she worked quickly to regain her composure in front of Belos. The odd change in her behavior didn’t escape Belos, but he decided not to bring attention to it. No need to embarrass her after she had bestowed such a wonderful gift upon him.

“Very well. You have my gratitude, Kiki. The Titan deserves to be represented in all his glory, and this outfit should achieve that goal.”

Once more removing his wooden mask in front of her – and with no one else present – Belos placed the golden mask atop his head. It was a comfortable fit that felt secure without being too snug. The eyeholes were large enough to see through without exposing much of his face. Everything about it just felt _right_ on him.

Yes, this would do quite nicely. The wild witches of Bonesborough would soon realize they were dealing with a different man than the one they had fought almost a year ago. Outward and inward, Belos was a changed witch. If they weren’t doing so already, heretics and nonbelievers would tremble at his name soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this chapter takes place between two action-heavy ones, I wanted to focus more on Belos's relationship with his disciples and his growing determination to serve the Titan. He won't let a little thing like potential organ failure stop his ministry! Besides, I'm sure that Belos consuming pure palisman magic will have no repercussions in the long run. ^_^ 
> 
> The next chapter will feature the return of two previously featured characters, a witch's duel in the heart of Bonesborough, and plenty of action!


	7. Their Thrones Become Electric Chairs

_The Book of Titan, chapter 26, verses 10-20_

_“There will come a day when my people’s faith will be tested. The Adversary will send a False Shepherd among my flock. They will divide the witches, make them question my teachings. It will be their responsibility to reject the False Shepherd’s deceptions and assert themselves over the Adversary.”_

_Belos became greatly troubled at the Titan’s warning. An unknown threat like this could undo everything he had accomplished as the voice of the Titan._

_“Who will this False Shepherd be?” Belos asked. “What form will they take?”_

_“The Adversary has limited my foresight into this matter,” the Titan admitted. “His talent for cunning is unrivaled, but he cannot blind me from the truth. The False Shepherd will arrive as a witch but emerge as a beast.”_

_“Remember these words, my dear Belos: ‘With a feathered face and blackened eyes, they will deceive you with their lies. But if the faith of my people is real, they will bring the False Shepherd to heel!’”_

* * *

As Belos and his disciples marched into Bonesborough, it became apparent that the city had changed since he had started his ministry there. As expected, there were signs of resistance and opposition to him – the streets were marked with occasional wanted posters featuring him or loyal witches like Albert. They offered a hefty reward for anyone who would bring them in dead or alive, and claimed that it was “every witch’s duty” to oppose Belos.

However, any official efforts to bring him down were outweighed by displays of loyalty to Belos and the Titan. Many wanted posters had been torn to shreds or vandalized, some even altered to show the likenesses of wild witches like Weiss or Sierra. In the back alleys that they traversed, they came across crude graffiti of Belos depicted in an angelic light. The sign for Bonesborough’s city hall had been marred by the word “SINNERS” written in black paint.

The tide had turned against the wild witches governing Bonesborough. Belos could tell that the city was on the brink of upheaval. All it needed was the right push to fall in line with his ministry, and he absolutely intended to give it the nudge it needed.

The outer limits of the city had been mostly barren when Belos and his disciples had gotten inside. The further they had ventured, the more witches and demons they had encountered. Some gaped in awe at Belos, and a few ran away from him in fear, but most greeted him with cheers and praise for the Titan. He also received the occasional compliment for his new outfit, the golden mask and white & brown robes apparently giving him a regal appearance.

Belos refused to let it go to his head. He was just the messenger for the Titan, after all. He couldn’t afford to have an ego or hold grudges. At most, he would acknowledge their praise for him…and maybe thank Kikimora again for her impeccable choice in clothing.

His other disciples reacted to the attention in differing ways. Bartholomew relished the approval and sang to the group’s adoring fans. Albert went quiet and pulled his collar further over his head, hiding his shyness under his jacket. Gertrude smiled gently and waved to the spectators, while Durin merely grunted at them and shrugged off their adoration. Kikimora regarded some of the bystanders with suspicion and shooed off any witches who got too close to Belos.

In essence, they were all getting a hero’s welcome in Bonesborough. Amid the cheering and heaps of praise they received, Belos saw a lizard-like witch run into the streets ahead of them. The witch’s tail shook frantically as he spoke.

“Everyone, scatter!” he cried. “Weiss and Duke Dragomir are holding a petrification in the town square! They’re rounding up Titan worshippers right now!”

The buoyant mood instantly vanished. The witches gathered around Belos and his disciples hurried into their homes, nearby buildings, and even sewer grates. Muffled shouts and cries of despair were barely concealed from within their hiding places.

Before the witch who had announced the news could flee, Belos took his arm and moved him into one of the alleyways. “Have they done this before?”

The lizard demon nervously swallowed. “A-a few times. They’re cracking down on witches who worship the Titan and share your teachings.”

Belos growled in displeasure. “How many have they taken today?”

“Maybe a handful of witches? They, uh, looked like farmers from outside the city. One of them had been leading the charge for converting people…I think his name was Seth?”

Backing away nervously from Belos, the witch quietly said, “They don’t have much time. None of us do! They won’t stop until we’re all under their boots again!”

Digging his claws into the brickwork of a shop, he scampered up onto the roof, fearfully murmuring to himself about his impending doom. Belos was left to puzzle over his warnings…and to stew in his growing anger.

His loyal followers were being persecuted by wild witches. They had gone so far as to target one of his first true believers! A scowl formed beneath Belos’s mask. He wouldn’t stand for this. Usurping Weiss and any other wild witches had already been on his agenda, but now there was genuine urgency behind it. Failing to intervene in time would result in innocent witches being reduced to stone statues.

Addressing his disciples, Belos declared, “Come together, everyone! The wild witches of Bonesborough intend to petrify those who serve the Titan. It’s time to put an end to their wretched reign over this city…”

* * *

From his vantage point, Belos could sense an undercurrent of fear among those gathered in Bonesborough’s town square. A rickety wooden stage had been set up where he had announced Belshazzar’s petrification – in fact, there were some shattered pieces of stone nearby that looked like they had belonged to the wild witch. Atop the stage were three male witches bound against poles, along with Weiss and a masked witch wearing ornate armor. Belos recognized Weiss’s companion as Duke Dragomir, a wild witch that claimed ownership of the city.

An unusual machine was aimed at the prisoners. It looked like several statues staring out at the four cardinal directions, with a glowing power source mounted in their center. The statues’ eyes glowed, and their gaping mouths seemed to emanate a lethal type of magical energy.

“Any idea what that is, Durin?” Albert spoke up beside him.

The dwarf leaned further over the rooftop they were all perched on – and immediately groaned in unease. “That’s a petrifier, no doubt about it. See that green goo powering the machine? It’s pure palisman magic. The blasted thing uses that goop to turn anything it’s aimed at into stone.”

The idea intrigued Belos. A machine dedicated to performing petrifications? With a device like that, the burden of punishing wild witches would be mostly lifted off his shoulders. It was abhorrent that it was currently being used against his faithful flock…but maybe he could repurpose it for a far more glorious purpose.

“They intend to make examples of our followers,” Belos commented. “Weiss and Dragomir are going to petrify them just as we had petrified their own kind.”

Gertrude’s shoulders slumped back. The kindly witch appeared horrified at the news. “What a cruel message to send…”

“We’ll make sure it isn’t sent, then.”

Belos scanned the crowd, noticing that some spectators were soldiers wearing Dragomir’s gold-and-black colors. They were armed with basic staffs and wore light armor – clothing designed to block daggers and concealed blades, not spells or heavier weapons. Few people among their ranks wore helmets or masks to conceal their identities. He made a mental note to himself that, when he assumed power over the Isles, his troops would need to have better facial protection.

He could dream about restoring order to the Boiling Isles another time, though. Right now, there was a smaller, but no less urgent, problem on his hands. Three innocent witches were about to be petrified, and only he and his disciples could save them.

Atop the stage, Weiss sauntered in front of his captives, flashing a smug sneer at the men moments away from being turned to stone. He raised his voice loud enough to be heard over the commotion of the people watching.

“You were told to abandon your barbaric religion and follow the laws of the land, but you refused. You not only continued worshipping Belos and his false god, but you spread his lies to other witches in Bonesborough! You corrupted innocent witches and turned them against the natural order of the world.”

Arms clenched around his back, Weiss marched over to Seth and stood face-to-face with him. The portly farmer tried to put on a brave face, but the sweat layered on his face showed just how frightened he was.

“Do you deny any of these charges?” Weiss coldly asked him.

Seth swallowed nervously. “All I did was serve the Titan. He wants what’s best for us witches, just like Belos.”

In the face of Seth’s defiance, Weiss merely laughed. “And where is your Titan now? Your devotion to him is about to get you petrified, and I won’t face any reprisal for doing it! It sounds like your god hates his followers and rewards anyone who punishes them. What do you make of that idea?”

The farmer offered no rebuttal or argument toward Weiss’s remarks. All he could do was lower his head and mumble prayers for the Titan to show him mercy. Frustrated without an opportunity to needle his prisoner further, Weiss scoffed and stormed away from Seth.

“Let it be known that _anyone_ who preaches the same lies as Belos will get the same treatment as these traitors!” he declared to the crowd. “There will be no Titan or god-sent messenger to save you! You will be petrified and left as a warning to any other would-be prophets!”

Weiss was making his way back to the petrifier, and Dragomir already prepared to throw the levers and turn their three captives to stone. The time for listening in was over – Belos had to strike now before the punishment was carried out.

Belos turned to his disciples. “Listen carefully. We need to act swiftly if we are to save our followers. Kiki, Durin, I need you two to get to the stage. Sabotage the petrifier however you can and free those prisoners. Gertrude, Bartholomew, you two will infiltrate the crowd and stir up a revolt against Duke Dragomir and Weiss. Albert, single out Dragomir’s guards and incapacitate them however you can. The less men they have fighting on their side, the easier this will be for us.”

“So, what role are you gonna play in this?” Albert asked him.

“I will draw Dragomir and Weiss away from you all. I’m the one they loathe – if I make enough of spectacle coming in, they should forget about the execution and focus on fighting me.”

Belos aimed a hand at the empty space between the spectators and the executioner’s stage. Drawing a spell circle, he vanished from his lookout spot on the rooftop and reappeared on the ground. The “arrival” portion of the spell boomed like a clap of thunder, grabbing the attention of everyone present.

“The Titan’s word surpasses all laws made by mere witches,” he declared amid the tense silence. “These men should be commended for following their faith…which is more than I can say for you two.”

Shock quickly turned to egotistical anger for Weiss. “Well, well, the false prophet returns at last. I thought you had learned your lesson months ago when Sierra and I wiped the floor with you!”

“That was then. You’ll find me harder to dispose of now.”

Weiss seemed ready to take Belos’s challenge, but he was stopped in place by Dragomir. The armored witch-duke menacingly approached Belos, his staff pounding the cobblestones with every step. With his masked helmet to filter it, Dragomir’s voice carried serious weight to it.

“So, you’re the madman who’s been causing chaos around the Isles,” the duke said. “I was hoping we would meet face-to-face. You’ve struck down many friends and allies of mine in your insane crusade. When I say that I will enjoy this, believe me…I will.”

Dragomir leapt off the stage and continued to gradually advance on his target. Belos stood his ground and, outside of the increasing glow of his staff, made no movements to attack or avoid Bonesborough’s duke.

“I will shred you down to your last bone, Belos. There will be songs made of this day, when I ended your reign of terror for good. Your flock will scatter without you, and your precious Titan will be revealed as nothing more than-”

From behind Dragomir, a colossal worm-like creature with stubby legs and glowing yellow eyes emerged from a red haze. The duke barely had time to react before it descended upon him. Thick, blunt teeth crunched through his armor. With one rapid bite after another, it devoured Dragomir and swallowed him down its gullet, armor and all.

As quickly as it appeared, the worm vanished. The glow emitting from Belos’s staff faded away with the creature. Shock and confusion filled the crowd, while Weiss lurched back in horror.

Belos let out a soft hum. “Yes, songs will be made of this day, but not for the reasons your master had envisioned. Bonesborough is under my protection now – let your captives go or suffer the same fate as your ‘all-powerful’ duke.”

It took a few moments for Weiss to compose himself. Clearly caught off-guard by how easily Dragomir had been slain, he lost the cocky sneer he had been flashing at Belos. Though his hands visibly trembled, he remained defiant against his old foe.

Spell circles flashed around Weiss. “Like I’m going to be intimidated by you! Bring it on!”

Multiple illusions of Weiss appeared. Most charged at Belos, though one made a dash for the petrifier. Weiss took hold of its lever while Belos reduced copy after copy of him to smoke. All it would take to petrify his prisoners were a few pounds of pressure.

Weiss never got that chance. As soon as he reached the machine, Belos’s disciples sprang into action. Kikimora and Durin leapt onto the stage, both creating spell circles as they landed. All of Weiss’s illusions vanished – promptly followed by a wrecking ball materializing and slamming into the true Weiss, knocking him onto the cobblestones. While the wild witch was injured and disoriented, the two got to work releasing the captives and ripping out the petrifier’s power source.

Dragomir’s guards emerged from within the crowd, pushing inward to corner Belos. Albert appeared beside him with the _crack_ of a teleportation potion. He downed a thin bottle containing the same berserker potion he had used against Belos. Imbued with unparalleled strength, Albert crashed into the enclosing circle of guards and allowed his fists to do the talking. Swords were drawn and clubs slammed down on him, but he tore their weapons apart and flung them across rooftops with his punches.

Bartholomew and Gertrude made their appearances known among the crowd, chanting slogans like “the Titan knows all!” and “down with wild witchcraft!” The bard quickly got a song going about Belos and the Titan’s saving power, while the healer singled out Weiss’s captives and treated their injuries.

When Weiss got back onto his feet, he was greeted by a hostile crowd and rapidly worsening odds. Dragomir was dead, his guards were being beaten down by a berserker-fueled potion master, and Sierra was nowhere to be found. He found Belos in the center of this chaos, and his glare toward the Titan’s messenger turned venomous.

“ _You_ ,” he snarled at Belos. “You’re going to die here, I’ll make sure of that. When I’m through with you, you’ll be begging your false god for mercy.”

Abominations rose around Weiss. He threw a potion on the ground that created a thick blue fog between the two. Belos remained still, his gaze fixated on the impenetrable clouds obscuring the battlefield.

A goopy purple fist shot through the fog, leaving Belos scant seconds to dodge the abomination’s punch. More of them appeared among the clouds and attacked him, smashing apart buildings and cobblestone paths with their narrowly avoided strikes. Rubble and ruined building material fell from above, forcing the crowds to dodge and flee the wreckage for their lives.

Belos’s staff buzzed to life, the gem atop its crescent shape glowing its ethereal red tone. Streams of powerful lightning tore through Weiss’s abominations. Illusionary copies of Weiss charged him with daggers. Since they were too detailed to identify as fakes, he blew them away with concentrated energy blasts. The real Weiss had yet to show himself.

His focus wavered for only a moment, but that was all an abomination needed to take hold of him. Its grip was painful and immobilizing. Belos struggled to break free as the abomination continued to crush the life out of him. He still had his staff, but he couldn’t fire off any spells that would destroy the abomination without hurting himself.

“Not so sure of yourself now, _are you?_ ” Weiss cried.

The wild witch reappeared before him with a bubbling, acidic potion in one hand and a knife in the other. He cruelly sneered at Belos as he approached him. Belos kicked and pushed back against the abomination’s hands to no avail.

Just as Weiss got within stabbing distance of Belos, a gargantuan fireball erupted from his staff, melting down the abomination and knocking Weiss backward. Belos emerged from the sludge heap, still steaming from the attack, but very much alive. Growling, Weiss hurled himself at Belos with murderous intent.

He parried the wild witch’s frantic attacks with cool confidence. While Weiss snarled and hissed at Belos, the latter offered no words or reactions for his opponent to take advantage of. Their roles had been reversed – now Weiss was a desperate witch battling against a superior foe in a lopsided duel.

Belos was a holy man, a messenger of the Titan. He couldn’t allow himself to hold grudges. Everyone deserved equal treatment, no matter what they had done in the past.

He reminded himself of this, yet when he summoned dozens of hands to immobilize Weiss, reprisal was all he had on his mind. A full-force strike from Belos’s staff broke Weiss’s perfect nose, ruining the meticulous image he had been creating for himself. While the wild witch was still reeling from the head trauma, Belos grabbed him by his collar and drove one punch after another into his face, pummeling Weiss senseless. With every blow, his abominations melted away and illusions vanished into thin air.

He threw Weiss to the ground. The wild witch tried to crawl away from Belos, only to be struck hard in the ribs by his staff. Another harsh blow knocked him onto his back, leaving him moaning in pain. Belos used another spell to trap Weiss with disembodied hands.

“You treated my followers like _vermin_ ,” Belos coldly said. “You deserve so much worse than what I have planned for you.”

Overhead, the roar of a wyrm screamed through the afternoon sky. The powerful beast hurtled down toward Belos, guided by a female witch riding its back. A hastily thrown-together shield spell barely blocked the creature’s talons from crushing Belos completely.

Belos and the rider traded glances, his cold gaze meeting her visible, fiery anger. This new arrival was no stranger to him.

“That’s enough!” Sierra cried. “I won’t let you hurt any more of my friends!”

Struggling against the wyrm’s immense weight, Belos strained his magical abilities pushing it off of him. As soon as he had thrown it off, it belched out a scorching blast of fire, breaking off chunks of Belos’s shield.

Beaten and bruised, Weiss weakly rose to his feet and grabbed his staff. He limped beside Sierra’s beast and got back into a combat stance.

The beastmaster raised her own staff in the air. “You’ve slithered your way out of punishment for the last time! Ready to end this freak, Weiss?”

Wiping fresh blood from his nose, the illusionist said, “As I’ll ever be. This false prophet deserves everything that’s coming to him.”

They had overwhelmed Belos before with their combined magical prowess. Together, Weiss and Sierra were a true force to be reckoned with. But Belos knew their tactics – and more importantly, he was far more experienced with his own magic now. He put his faith in the Titan, believing that he would give him the strength he needed to triumph over them.

Sierra’s wyrm dove at Belos. Its powerful claws swiped at him, finding no purchase in the illusion he had left behind. His true self reappeared atop the beast’s back, where Sierra had just begun to take notice of him.

Clearing his mind of any thoughts that her oracle magic could keep track of, he blocked her bone dagger’s frantic slashes and blasted her at point-black with a lightning spell. Thick tree roots wrapped themselves around the wyrm’s neck, dragging it to the ground in an unforgiving chokehold.

Clutching her bruised ribs, Sierra yelled, “Fenix, no! Hold on, I’ll save you!”

Already injured and badly taxed from his fight, Weiss relied on his potions to fight Belos. An acidic potion crashed near him as he advanced on Sierra. Belos quickly deflected the next two and grabbed a third out of the air. He drained its contents onto the nearby rubble – and promptly used a concussive spell to fire the empty bottle into Weiss’s battered head.

Belos reminded himself that he _wasn’t_ acting on a grudge, and that his pointed attacks against Weiss’s appearance were just to set an example. He needed to prove to the onlookers that he wouldn’t be challenged as a witch ever again, and that anyone who dared defy him would face terrible consequences. Still, some small flicker of pride burned inside him as he watched the wild witch double over, crying out and hurriedly scrubbing broken glass and acid droplets off his face.

Sierra’s knife tore through the plants summoned by Belos, freeing her wyrm from his grasp. A smaller vine wrapped around her arm, and followed by dozens more dragging her off the beast. Piece-by-piece, a metal cage materialized around her wyrm, its material durable enough to survive its bites and fire breath.

Belos hadn’t used any of his magic to stop her. Instead, he found the members of the crowd – hundreds of lesser witches led by Bartholomew and Gertrude – using their powers against Sierra. A mob surrounded Weiss and lashed out at him as well, knocking him around with physical and magical attacks. More of Bonesborough’s witches pulled Sierra along the ruined cobblestones and roughly deposited her beside Weiss’s half-conscious form.

They had stood up against wild witchcraft. Belos realized that they had _always_ had the potential to overthrow their oppressors, having outnumbered them by the thousands. All they had needed was the courage to take up arms against people like Dragomir and Weiss…and he had been the one to give them that bravery.

As satisfying as it was to see them get their just desserts, Belos couldn’t allow them to kill either of the surviving wild witches. He extended his arms to the crowd and declared in a strong voice, “ _Enough_.”

At once, the mob stepped aside and left Weiss and Sierra to Belos’s mercy. They watched Belos stand over the two in reverent awe.

A quick look at the pair of wild witches confirmed that neither was in any position to fight back. Sierra had taken some hits during their fight and was still immobilized under a number of magical vines. Weiss had no restraints around him other than his own injuries, which were immense compared to Sierra’s. Blackened eyes, a broken nose, and dozens of small cuts marred his once-handsome face. His robes were torn from fire and acid damage. Even without a spell to tie him down, he no longer posed a threat to Belos.

“The Titan has blessed us with a decisive victory today!” Belos said to everyone present. “Through our cooperation and faith, we have brought wild witchcraft to its knees in Bonesborough. The Titan’s goodwill shines down upon all who persevered in the face of cruelty and intolerance.”

He knelt before the two captured wild witches. Sierra’s eyes widened with fear, and she struggled and kicked at her bindings more desperately.

“You have committed grave sins against the Titan and his faithful followers. You followed tyrants like Dragomir as he persecuted innocent people. You abused your magical gifts for your own selfish gain. If our roles were reversed, you would show me no mercy.”

His staff hovered over Sierra. The beastmaster screamed as it glowed, channeling its magic over her…yet, instead of killing her, the staff removed the plant spells binding her in place. Both she and Weiss were stunned into silence at his seemingly contradictory choice.

“I am not like you. I do not punish those who don’t deserve it, nor do I hold grudges against fellow witches.” Mostly, that was, but he wouldn’t own up to it. “The Titan has seen fit to humble you both without taking your lives. He sees this as an opportunity for you two to redeem yourselves…a solitary chance to atone for your sins.”

Confusion overtook the moods of the crowd and of Belos’s disciples. They had expected executions or petrifications, not a lecture from the Titan’s messenger. However, none spoke out against him. If the Titan’s will had freed them from tyranny, then they had no reason to question this act of mercy.

Still, none were quite prepared for what Belos said next.

“I want you both to join me as disciples. Your skills would make you invaluable when the Day of Unity comes. Together, we can unite the Boiling Isles under the Titan’s vision.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been looking forward to writing this chapter since the start of the fanfic. Writing the witch's duel was a blast, particularly when I got to contrast Belos's initial fight against Weiss/Sierra with this one. It's also fun to write Belos's disciples working as a team against overwhelming odds. 
> 
> Believe it or not, we're nearing the end of the story! Only a few chapters to go from here...


	8. Build A Castle

_The Book of Titan, chapter 34, verses 10-25_

_“…Through this portal, you will face your greatest temptation,” the Titan informed Belos. “It will take you to the human realm, a world of technological might devoid of magic. You will have one opportunity to enter it and one opportunity to return to the Boiling Isles. If you are truly worthy to govern my peoples, you will overcome this temptation and assume the mantle of emperor.”_

_The swirling purple vortex of the portal called to Belos, yet he hesitated to step into it. He had no knowledge of this world he was to enter. The prospect of a “greatest temptation” worried Belos as well. Hadn’t he already proven his devotion to the Titan?_

_“I can sense your concerns,” the Titan noted aloud. “You are a good messenger, but governing a nation requires greater leadership skills than managing a religious ministry. The trials you face in the human realm will prepare you for the role of emperor…assuming you overcome the temptations within it, of course.”_

_Reassured by the Titan’s comments, and refusing to back down from the challenge, Belos stepped closer to the portal. Before descending into the human realm, he kneeled and offered up another prayer in thanksgiving._

_“You have chosen the right witch to lead the Isles,” Belos declared. “I am grateful for this chance to prove how deep my faith runs. I assure you, I will return.”_

* * *

Without Duke Dragomir or any other wild witches to keep the city in line, Bonesborough fell into Belos’s waiting hands. He wasted no time officially establishing his presence there. Within days, the remainder of Dragomir’s soldiers and assistants declared their loyalty to Belos and renounced wild witchcraft. Belos used his now-widened reach of authority to establish his coven system there, with his disciples being placed in charge of them individually. A couple covens remained empty for now, but he was confident he would recruit the right witches to fill those voids.

His first week in power was not spent conquering nearby towns, though. For most of his days, he organized long lines of civilians together in order to efficiently seal their non-major magical abilities away, just as he had done to other believers. Sierra and Weiss were no exceptions to the decision; however, while Sierra chose to hold onto her beastkeeping abilities, Weiss had no option other than having everything but his illusion magic sealed.

Kikimora proved to be an effective right-hand woman in this time. She kept his orders neat, concise, and sent to the right people. While he rested and regained strength after a long day of sealing magic, she would tirelessly bring him news from around town and relay commands to his disciples. He couldn’t help but give her an affectionate pat to her shoulders after a job well done, which would bring no end of blushes from her end.

A few weeks of administrative nonsense got Belos to the point he wanted to reach: extending his ministry into the neighboring towns and cities. He sent out scouts to spread word of Bonesborough’s new government and to see whether other regions would willingly join him.

In theory, this was a great way to test the waters regarding his ministry’s spread! And, initially, it worked in his favor. Settlements he had visited during his travels voiced their support for him and agreed to come under his rule.

However, not all of the Boiling Isles took the news as it had been intended. Some unscrupulous groups came to believe that Bonesborough was leaderless, in disarray, and vulnerable to attack.

This was why, to Belos’s disappointment, he learned of an army of bandit witches rapidly advancing on Bonesborough. Only a month into his reign, and there were already people trying to plunder his city out of ruthless greed. He had hoped that the rest of the Boiling Isles would welcome him with open arms.

It was of no concern, he thought to himself as he stepped into the defense planning room. He would have to make those unfaithful peoples fall in line with his vision, one way or another.

All his disciples, along with some of Dragomir’s former ministers, were gathered around a map of Bonesborough and its surrounding territories. Lines had been drawn to mark the strongest concentration of bandit forces and their most probable attacking paths. In different ink colors, a bare-bones idea for counterattack had been placed as well. There seemed to be no finesse to the plan, just pitting their immense magical strength against numerous enemies.

Every head turned his way as he entered the room. Taking a seat at the head of the table, he sat and silently listened as Kikimora rattled off the details of their defensive strategy. He absorbed all of it passively, only offering up minor questions when necessary.

At the end of the day, it was just another meeting, and he had endured countless meetings since he had taken Bonesborough. He had no doubt that he and his followers would obliterate this attempted raid. The Titan would protect all of them on their road to purifying the Boiling Isles.

A few hours later, most of those present had separated into smaller conversations or idly checked their scrolls as they leaned against the room’s pillars. It seemed like as good a time as any to retreat to his quarters and begin his round of evening prayers and meditation.

On his way out, someone took hold of his shoulder. Belos turned to find Albert close behind him, his expression scrunched in concern and worry.

“What troubles you, my friend?” Belos casually asked him.

Albert took a cautious look around him. “We need to talk,” he said under his breath. “The others might not have a problem with the status quo, but I can’t stay silent about this. Look, I’m thrilled about what we’ve done – mission accomplished, Bonesborough is ours, and so on – but I’m not so jubilant about our latest recruits. They’re not _like_ us.”

“Give them time to adapt to our way of life. They’ll accept my teachings eventually.”

“I don’t mean like that!” Albert insisted. “I’m trying to say that witches like them, who went out of their way to stop us, have no place fighting alongside us!”

“Kikimora fought against us as well, yet you had no objections when she joined our cause.”

“Yeah, but that’s because she wasn’t a _murderer!_ ” Albert’s tone was caught somewhere between anger and desperation. “Weiss was literally about to petrify one of your followers before we stepped in! Sierra’s probably got just as much blood on her hands! They were the worst kind of wild witches, but you put them in charge of two of your covens! What are you thinking?”

Belos wasn’t oblivious to Albert’s concerns, but the potion master wasn’t seeing the bigger picture. They needed as many powerful witches on their side as possible before the Day of Unity came. Weiss and Sierra could still redeem themselves and prove to be valuable assets while working alongside Belos. Past transgressions needed to be put aside for the Titan’s sake.

“It is the will of the Titan that they assist us,” Belos calmly answered him. “I do not question his judgment. I merely carry out his wishes on the Boiling Isles. Perhaps you will understand his reasoning after some prayer and deep thinking.”

Albert looked away from Belos, scoffing at his explanation. “You keep saying that it’s ‘the Titan’s will,’ but I’m starting to wonder if that’s just an easy excuse for you.”

A deathly sort of silence followed Albert’s accusation. Through his mask, Belos’s eyes glowed an even brighter shade of blue. Snarling, Belos swiftly dragged Albert into the hallway by his neck and pressed him against a wall. Albert’s breaths turned short and panicked as Belos pressed his mask against his friend’s face.

“You’ve followed me from the beginning, Albert – that is why I am being merciful now. I am going to pretend that you never blasphemed in front of me. Know this: you will not get another warning. Do you understand?”

With his throat tightly constricted, Albert wheezed out a string of “yes’s” and nodded his head frantically. Belos unceremoniously dropped him onto the floor, paying no mind as his now red-faced companion desperately sucked in more air. Now that he had gotten his message across clearly, Belos intended to return to his praying once more.

Taking a single look back, Belos saw Albert gazing at him in hurt disbelief, like he couldn’t believe what his friend had become. A small shiver of regret ran down Belos’s spine, but he quickly suppressed it and turned away from Albert. He couldn’t make exceptions for those who denied the Titan’s messages, not even for his closest companions.

* * *

On the outskirts of Bonesborough, where forests covered the land and homes were miles from each other, Belos found himself staring down the hordes of bandits ready to lay waste to his dominion. They were witches and demons of all skills, shapes, and sizes. Some carried staffs, others hefted axes and traditional weapons, and a few here and there stood unarmed among their comrades. They had no uniforms or organized ranks to tell them apart, just raw numbers and a stronger sense of greed than anything else.

He had approached the mob of bandits as placatingly as possible, staff lowered and arms raised to advertise his intent to negotiate with them. They grumbled and growled at his presence, but none dared step up to fight him directly. Everyone knew the stories of what happened to Belos’s opponents in witches’ duels. Even with the odds stacked against him, he would petrify or outright kill anyone who refused to bend the knee to him.

Amplifying his voice with magic, Belos shouted, “Fellow witches of the Boiling Isles! You do not understand the danger you have placed yourself in. You cannot hope to take Bonesborough or any territories under my protection. I implore you, drop your weapons and return to your homes, for the Titan says that every life is-”

An arrow crashed through him – rather, through the illusion that he had led to confront the invaders. His true form was still close by, just not on open ground where spells and other projectiles could easily pelt him. His illusion copy looked down at the ripple left behind by the arrow, brushed off its robes, and scoffed at the mob.

“So be it,” he declared through the illusion. “Let be known that I offered you mercy, and you chose to reject it. The blood spilt today will ensure that no one opposes my ministry ever again.”

With that, Weiss dropped the cloaking spell that hid Belos and his disciples. Out of thin air, they charged into the clearing, staffs glowing and magical attacks prepared. Roars and chants escaped the bandits as they ran to meet Bonesborough’s defenders. Some of Dragomir’s former soldiers had been brought to aid in the counterattack, and they met the bandits head-on with enchanted weapons and improved armor.

Spells collided in mid-air, staffs and swords crunched into exposed flesh, and beasts pounced on each other in furious combat. Belos ignored the remorse pounding through his system, the shock at the loss of life surrounding him, and focused on the situation at hand. These invaders were heretics intent on destroying everything he had worked for. He told himself that it was morally right to put them down before they hurt anyone else.

Though the bandits greatly outnumbered them, it quickly became apparent that they were underpowered compared to Belos and his team. Sierra rode her wyrm over the hordes of invaders, engulfing them in streams of fire or smashing them with powerful swipes of its tail. Lethal potions hurled by Albert melted down attackers or speared them with dozens of nails. Constructions summoned by Durin forced their foes into bottlenecks or crashed down on groups of attacking witches. Bartholomew and Gertrude ran support for the city guards, passively boosting their physical abilities and allowing them to power through any wounds they received. Kikimora proved crucial in canceling out magical attacks being charged by any competent enemy witches.

No one seemed to enjoy the combat more than Weiss. His illusions ran circles around individual bandits, throwing off their attacks and leaving him ample room to gut them mercilessly. His cruel grin turned nearly maniacal with every enemy he would filet or neck he would snap. Even without his other magical abilities, he proved himself to be lethally effective.

Belos saw no harm in letting him indulge his darker urges. This was, after all, a deed being done in the name of the Titan. Destroying this invading force was essential for preserving their ministry in Bonesborough, and it would pave the way for his expansion into the rest of the Isles. The time to fully reform Weiss would come later. For now, Belos needed his brutality, if only to aim it at his enemies and let the former wild witch loose on them.

The bodies quickly piled up around Belos and his forces. He used every spell in his arsenal to disrupt, disorient, or utterly destroy the bandits gathered outside of the city. Whenever too many would surround him, he would electrocute them with a circular shockwave. If a line of them charged his way, he’d summon his worm-like mount to devour them in one fell swoop. When their ranks thinned, one or two would be grabbed with a manipulation spell and hurled far into the distance.

He never once let the fatigue of battle slow him down. Even as he would step over corpses to incinerate fleeing bandits or throw them back to his disciples to face judgment, he greeted the sights with stony indifference. The fight had become little more than pest control for him.

When the last of the bandits were cornered, Belos had no pity for them. A trio of cowering witches in war paint and a trained snagglebeast were all that remained of the once-mighty force threatening Bonesborough. Terrified of him, they dropped their weapons and kneeled.

“Have mercy on us, Lord Belos!” one bandit cried.

Another bandit begged loudly for she and her allies’ lives. “We were wrong to take advantage of your kindness! Give us a chance to redeem ourselves!”

From behind him, Weiss loudly clucked his tongue in disappointment. “All that bravado really left you once the tables turned, huh? You people are _pathetic_.” He twirled a bloodstained dagger in one hand as he approached the surrendering invaders. “The only mercy you’re getting is a quick, clean death-”

Belos moved to block Weiss. The illusionist tilted his head in confusion, eyes darting between his commander and the people he intended to execute.

“They wish to atone,” Belos calmly said to Weiss. “They deserve an opportunity to prove their worth to the Titan.”

Weiss loudly groaned at the remarks. “They’re _savages_ , Belos. They were ready to pillage and burn your city half an hour ago. Reasoning with them would be a waste of time.”

Belos drew himself up to his full height, standing a full head over the illusionist. Weiss now had to look up at Belos to meet his gaze. Coupled with the eerie blue glow from within his mask’s eyeholes, it left the former wild witch hesitant to press his point further.

“You will do as I say,” Belos said, raising his voice so his other disciples could hear his declaration. “These men are to be brought to the city prison to begin their rehabilitation. Their snagglebeast is to be released at its natural habitat of the Knee. You will not question my orders again, Weiss. Have I made myself clear?”

Weiss tried – and failed – to keep a neutral composure during Belos’s demands. Thoroughly cowed, he uttered a meek “understood” before falling back to join the other disciples. Albert averted his eyes as Belos turned to his followers.

“Bonesborough remains under the care of my ministry!” he said. “The time will soon come to expand the Titan’s message to the rest of the Isles. Already, those settlements that accepted our teachings clamor to join with us. We will unite the Boiling Isles under the watchful eye of the Titan, whether through conversion or through conquest. This savage age will come to an end, and peace will be brought to every corner of our land!”

* * *

True to his word, Belos immediately began consolidating loyal towns and cities under his control. He sent loyal witches to help govern new territories and establish his rule there. Elections and local councils were swept away, leaving his absolute rule as the sole source of law. Representation and democracy were imperfect, he had argued – only a messenger of the Titan himself could achieve peace by ruling alone.

For every settlement that willingly joined his dominion, another refused to deal with him or declared war on his growing kingdom. Some conflicts he was able to prevent through negotiations and diplomacy. Most, though, could only be resolved through fighting.

Years of civil war and conquest followed Belos’s takeover of Bonesborough. In many battles, the would-be emperor himself took part in the bloodshed, often with his disciples supporting him. He saw witches of all ages and races, both fighting for him and against him, fall on the battlefield. These were the darkest days of his ministry.

Not every battle was clean or victorious. Entire towns sometimes were erased off the map. Homes were put to the torch by retreating witches opposed to his rule. Innumerable lives were lost. Dozens of palismans were consumed in Belos’s efforts to keep himself at full strength.

Eventually, those who fought against Belos lost more and more ground. Their territories became surrounded by witches fervently devoted to his teachings. Belos’s victories increasingly outnumbered his forces’ defeats. His final push to conquer the Isles drove the remaining wild witches to the shores, where they retreated to the uncharted waters of the Boiling Sea. No one knew what became of the fleeing rebels, outside of rumors and wild speculation.

In the end, all of the bloodshed and warring had been worth it. When all witches of the Boiling Isles bowed before him, Belos crowned himself emperor of the land. He promised to usher in a golden age of magic, one without the temptations and imperfections of wild witchcraft. Under his ministry, the Isles’ inhabitants would be protected and loved by his divine reign.

When the time would come for the Day of Unity, his subjects would be made ready to do what the Titan needed of them. He would fulfill his holy mission, and no one would stop him from doing so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case there is any confusion: the Book of Titan readings for chapters 7 and 8 happen some time after Belos gains full control of the Boiling Isles. Though they did not directly relate to the events within their chapters, there will be payoff to both entries.


	9. They Finally Meet Their Fate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be the last "full-length" chapter for the story. Chapter 10 will be shorter and will focus on connecting this with "My Child is a Human?!", the fanfiction that inspired it.

_The Book of Titan, chapter 40, verses 1-4:_

_“The Emperor’s Coven is an ideal for all witches to strive for,” Emperor Belos explained to his subjects. “Magical prowess, by itself, will not be enough for one to join it. A witch must be pure of heart and devoted to the Titan’s teachings to be accepted into its ranks. Soldiers of the Coven are more than protectors of the innocent – they defend our faith and embody its greatest tenets.”_

* * *

“Emperor Belos? There’s, ah, an _incident_ that needs to be brought to your attention. Something happened today during coven tryouts and…well…”

Belos reclined further into the metal throne overlooking his private quarters. Kikimora had addressed him with the sort of quivering fear that a messenger with bad news would carry. She flinched at his mask’s gaze, and immediately knelt before him.

Though he remained as powerful as he had been decades ago, the changes to Belos’s body left him paranoid about revealing his conditions to the Boiling Isles. To compensate for this, he had constructed a castle on the outskirts of Bonesborough and established it as the center of his authority. While his ministers and coven leaders handled issues around the country, he secluded himself in the cold isolation of his throne room.

“Kiki, we’ve been through this,” he sighed. “I will never punish you for keeping me informed, no matter how negative your reports are. You are simply doing your job; you aren’t the one _causing_ the problems.”

Overhead, a massive heart suspended to the high ceiling pounded with a calm regularity. At first glance, visitors often mistook the organ for some macabre decoration. He would never give straight answers about the heart, for the answer would likely horrify his lesser-ranked subjects: the organ was his own.

Decades of palisman consumption had engorged his heart to monstrous proportions, forcing his healers to extract it from his body. A magical link between Belos and his heart kept blood regularly flowing through his veins. His health was mostly stable now, though he required a monthly ingestion of palisman magic to keep the link going.

A side consequence of this abuse was a near-halt to Belos’s aging process. Even after so much time had passed, he barely looked a few years older than when he had started his ministry. He felt strange to be stuck in limbo while his disciples kept growing older. The only real exception to this was Kikimora, whose species was longer-lived than the average witch.

Perhaps that was why he treasured her friendship and allowed himself to indulge in her affections – she was the only other witch who understood what it was like to withstand the ravages of time.

“My apologies, Lord Belos. I mean – I understand.” She summoned a scroll and held it open toward him. “This occurred less than an hour ago. It was at a recruitment duel for the Emperor’s Coven. Edalyn and Lilith Clawthorne had been vying for the same spot in the Coven – two sisters with remarkable magical abilities.”

Belos nodded in recognition. He had been informed about the Clawthornes and their impressive track records. While they had gone down opposite paths at Hexside – one embracing delinquency while the other focused on her studies – both had made names for themselves. It was a shame that only one spot remained open in his Coven, as he would have gladly recruited them both if he had the space.

As Kikimora fiddled with the scroll’s video settings, she rambled about what she had seen. “We all had expected it to play out like any other duel, but…something went _wrong_. Some of us had wondered if it had been a remarkably detailed illusion spell. Considering what the Book of Titan warned us about, I can’t help but hope that it was nothing more than a trick of the eyes…”

The scroll’s video feed finally sprung to life. Belos leaned closer, taking in as much of the low-quality recording as he could.

It all started innocuously enough: the Clawthorne sisters faced each other on opposite ends of a grudgby field, the space already cleared for their duel. Dozens of spectators watched from the stands; most were members of the Emperor’s Coven, but some were students of Hexside still in uniform. The angle of the video suggested that it had been taken by someone sitting in the back rows.

After they were given the signal to begin the duel, Lilith surged forward with a burst of blue magic. To her surprise, and to the crowd’s, Edalyn refused to fight her sister and forfeited the duel. The showdown seemingly ended on an uneventful note…until Edalyn suddenly began groaning in pain outside of the field. She doubled over, crying out louder until her shouts morphed into beast-like shrieks.

Gasps and murmurs of astonishment from the spectators intensified, reaching a peak when two brown wings emerged from Edalyn’s back. Her limbs lengthened and hands developed sharp talons. Thick brown fur tore through her clothes and covered most of her body. When she turned around to face her sister, her pitch-black eyes and enlarged fangs were revealed.

“What _is_ that?” one witch said aloud.

“That girl’s a monster!” one member of the Emperor’s Coven declared.

Rocks pelted the owl-like beast Edalyn had become. Its fear quickly shifted into anger. Snarling, it flared its wings in a show of defiance before fleeing into the wilderness.

Lilith called out to her sister, but the beast either didn’t hear or ignored her cries. The footage cut out after the last remaining Clawthorne sister had been pronounced the winner of the duel, as well as the newest recruit into the Emperor’s Coven.

Belos patted the space over his chest where his heart would have resided. Overhead, its pulsing became irregular and frantic. He had seen something like this before in a vision. The Titan had warned him that a grave threat would eventually come to challenge his rule. His thoughts trailed back to those fateful words that his master had shared with him.

_“With a feathered face and blackened eyes, they will deceive you with their lies. But if the faith of my people is real, they will bring the False Shepherd to heel!”_

A sharp, fearful exhale left Belos’s lips. The False Shepherd had come after all these years, and in the form of a seemingly loyal witch. The Titan had been clear about what she would accomplish if left unaccounted for: she would divide his flock and undo his decades of work uniting the Boiling Isles.

He clutched the armrests of his throne tighter. Part of him became overwhelmed with the desire to teleport into the outskirts of Bonesborough and scour the area for Edalyn. Or, better yet, deploy the Emperor’s Coven to track her down and eradicate her before she could corrupt his followers. Was he being paranoid and overly cautious? Yes…but how was he supposed to react when the _embodiment of his god’s enemy_ had arrived on his doorstep?

Kikimora gently placed herself on his lap, resting a hand on his shoulder. “My lord, your stress levels are skyrocketing! Should I send for a healer?”

He hadn’t realized how badly he had lost control of his emotions. With long, composed breaths, he brought his frantic pulse down to a more reasonable pace. Searching for the False Shepherd by himself could lead him into a trap by the Adversary himself. Sending in the Emperor’s Coven to scour the region could stir up a panic about Edalyn’s true nature, a detail that had apparently gone unnoticed by those present at the duel.

No, for this, he needed to be cold and ruthless. His reign was being challenged for the first time in years. He would not be cowed by the Adversary or his puppet False Shepherd.

In a level, commanding tone of voice, Belos responded, “I will be fine. Your services will be required, but not for summoning a healer.” A quick spell from his staff produced an image of his Coven’s newest member. “ _Bring me Lilith Clawthorne._ ”

* * *

Belos watched Lilith fearfully step into his throne room as if she were a child owning up to some wrongdoing. Her every move was hesitant and accompanied by a glance up at her emperor, as if she was waiting for his permission to act. Puffy eyes hidden behind large glasses, smeared mascara, and messy orange hair all pointed toward her having had a crying fit prior to being summoned.

Rather than wait for her to come to him, Belos stood up from his throne and approached Lilith. The young witch flinched at the harsh echoing of his boots against the stone floor. Both of her hands were clutched tightly against her chest, and her lower lip started to quiver.

Kikimora moved in stride with Belos, walking quicker to compensate for her shorter legs. “Remember that she is still young, Belos,” she quietly noted to him. “This may have been as much of a shock to her as it was to us.”

Belos merely snorted at her remark. “We’ll see about that.”

A sharp jabbing of his staff against the ground sealed the massive doors into his throne room. Lilith whirled around, only to have her attention dragged back in front of her when Belos addressed her.

“Lilith, we meet at last. You have earned quite the reputation for yourself.” As he spoke, he slowly circled around her. The red glow of his staff intimidated even Kikimora into silence. “The latest member of my Coven. A descendent of the powerful Clawthorne bloodline. And, apparently, sister to the False Shepherd sent to scatter my flock.”

She nervously swallowed after hearing his accusation. “I-I know what the duel must have looked like, m-my lord. It was a shock to me as well. But…but my sister isn’t an enemy of the Titan or of your reign.”

“Then enlighten me: why did your sister transform into that _beast_ after forfeiting the duel?”

“It’s…complicated.”

Stopping himself suddenly, Belos teleported himself mere centimeters from Lilith’s face. She recoiled back in fright, stopped only by Belos snatching her arm mid-movement. The disembodied heart pumped with greater exertion.

“I do not have time for half-baked excuses, _child_. Believe me, I am strongly considering having my Coven hunt your sister down like the beast she is.” Releasing Lilith, Belos angrily added, “You are not beyond suspicion, either. Was your duel a grand display of opposition to my rule? A chance to reveal your False Shepherd of a sister to start subverting my followers?”

“N-no! Our loyalty to the Titan is absolute! It’s just…” Shutting her eyes, Lilith remorsefully said, “My sister has been cursed. She was struck with a spell intended to deprive her of her magic, but it turned her into a beast instead! She’s innocent of any wrongdoing!”

It was a plausible story, but to Belos, it felt incomplete. Something didn’t add up about her explanation. “And how do you know she was cursed?”

Lilith stammered and stumbled over her words trying to explain herself. “I…she…we were practicing for the duel at the Knee…and we were ambushed by a wild witch. We fought him off, but not before he cursed my sister.”

“Then what did this ‘wild witch’ look like?” Belos probed further.

Kikimora spoke up, saying, “Take your time, dear. You’ve been through a difficult day.”

Uncomfortably, Lilith buried her face into her Hexside uniform. “He looked like…well, it was nighttime, and it was hard to see. All I could make out was a shadowy figure with large, round eyes wearing a cloak.”

Hearing Lilith struggle to compose her story and watching the guilt and fear dance along her features, one thought dominated Belos’s mind: _she’s lying_. She couldn’t hide her shame when she spoke, and she was visibly a nervous wreck whenever he would prod her with questions. Exactly what she was lying about was unclear, but her cover story was an obvious sham.

“I’ve heard enough,” Belos dismissively said. “Come tomorrow, my men and I will rouse your sister from her hiding place and have her petrified. Whether she willingly serves the Adversary or not, she will suffer the punishment that any traitor gets.”

” _No!_ ” Lilith desperately cried. Briefly startled by her own outburst, Lilith composed herself and lowered herself onto her knees. “Please, Lord Belos, spare her! I know that she is a just and honest witch! She doesn’t deserve to be petrified!”

Kikimora shot him a pleading glance, no doubt signaling for him to show her mercy. However, he refused to budge on such a dire threat to the Boiling Isles.

“It is the will of the Titan that the False Shepherd be brought to heel,” Belos coldly said.

Normally, the phrase “will of the Titan” would be enough to silence Belos’s critics on any issue. To his surprise, Lilith actually pressed the debate further.

“Yes, but isn’t it also the Titan’s will to test the loyalty of witches? What if he’s given Edalyn this test to prove her devotion to his teachings? You faced a similar temptation in the human realm before becoming emperor, so why couldn’t the same be true for my sister?”

For once, Belos was stunned into silence. He hadn’t considered that possibility before. It wouldn’t be unprecedented – just as Lilith had noted, the Titan worked in mysterious ways, probing and prodding the faith of his followers so they might become better people. He had faced a near-insurmountable temptation from the Titan, and only after conquering it had he been allowed to rule over the Isles.

It was still likely that the elder Clawthorne sister had been lying before. Regardless, he could understand the logic behind her desire to protect Edalyn. An idea began to form, one that would satisfy both sides of the argument. Gradually, his severed heart slowed to a calmer pace.

“You are wise beyond your years, Lilith,” Belos noted. “Perhaps my judgment against Edalyn had been too hasty. If what you say is true, and that she has been cursed, then I should have the power to heal her.”

Lilith shakily got onto her feet. “Y-you could? You’d remove my sister’s curse?”

“Nothing is impossible for the Titan’s messenger. However, I will do so on one condition: you are to bring her to me and have her join my Coven. Only if agrees will I heal her.”

Kikimora scurried in front of Belos, waving her arms frantically. “But, Belos, the Emperor’s Coven has reached its limit for recruitment! We were to stop admitting new members after this last duel!”

A brief pause followed, after which Belos declared, “I will make an exception. After all, a witch who could overcome a test from the Titan himself deserves to be rewarded. Wouldn’t you agree, Lilith?”

“I…yes, of course.” She reverently bowed to him. “I swear on my word that I will bring Edalyn to you. She will join your Coven, and we will serve you side-by-side.”

Whether or not he would _actually_ heal Edalyn’s curse, if it really did exist, was a hypothetical to Belos. What mattered was that a member of the powerful Clawthorne lineage had joined his Coven, and another could be soon to follow. Having that kind of magical talent on his side would be worth bending his rules on recruitment.

If Edalyn truly was the False Shepherd, then Belos would feel no guilt in turning her to stone. The same fate would befall her if she incited revolt against him or refused to join his Coven. Being a strong leader sometimes meant making examples out of people. His conquests during the Savage Age were shining examples of that principle.

“Very well.” A much gentler tap of Belos’s staff opened his throne room’s doors once more. “After you are fully initiated into my Coven, you are to immediately begin tracking down your sister. You may go, Lilith, and may the Titan grant you the wisdom you need to retrieve Edalyn.”

“I won’t fail you, my lord.”

With another quick bow, Lilith turned on her heels and made her exit. Kikimora remained behind, her eyes locked on the young witch before turning to Belos. She seemed lost in contemplation.

A quick spell from Belos sealed the room’s doors once more. He preferred privacy whenever he and Kikimora would confide in one another. He didn’t need rumors spreading about them or for her to be accused of getting preferential treatment from him. Their companionship was a complicated one, and he refused to let it be interpreted as some crass affair.

“What troubles you, Kiki?”

The gremlin-like witch briefly struggled to respond. “It’s just…one of Lilith’s comments got me thinking, and…”

Her answer was cut short by Belos sweeping his much-shorter companion off her feet and into her arms. She let out a half-gasp, half-giggle as he carried her back with him to his throne. She sat on his lap while he rested back in his imposing chair. For once, the two were almost at eye-level with each other.

Removing his mask, Belos said, “There, this should be preferable to standing around. What about Lilith’s comments concerned you?”

“It wasn’t so much of a concern as…well…” Kikimora anxiously wrung her hands out. “There’s a question I’ve had about you that has never been answered. The temptation you faced, the one mentioned in the Book of Titan…what exactly _was_ it? What about the human world kept you away from us for months on end?”

Memories flashed through Belos’s mind one after another. The crisp smell of fallen leaves in autumn. The vast, compelling, and tragic history that humanity left in its wake. The friendships he had made with strangers – in addition to the connections he never had imagined would have existed. The affectionate creatures that had been domesticated by mankind and allowed to live in their homes.

Coming home to a smile and an embrace from people who wanted him around. Knowing that the littlest things he did meant the world to other humans. Being able to leave his divine responsibility behind and simply be… _ordinary_.

It was impossible to describe to someone who hadn’t experienced it. As such, he offered the best explanation he could to the one of the few people he truly cared for.

“Oh, Kiki…” He pulled her into an embrace, resting his face beside hers. Her smaller arms affectionately wrapped around his neck.

“…It was the chance to live a normal life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to foreshadow the "False Shepherd" twist in chapters 5 and 7, though how effective that was remains to be seen. I just hope it didn't come out of the blue for readers! Same goes for Belos visiting the human realm, which was discussed to a degree in chapter 8's opening.
> 
> I thought about focusing more on the other coven leaders after the time skip, but I ultimately decided to focus this chapter on Belos, Kikimora, and Lilith. I thought it would make the shift into the show's timeline smoother, and that the conclusion would be more personal overall. Plus, "My Child is a Human?!" dedicates a lot of time to the different coven leaders after Belos has cemented himself in power. Those who want to see more of Albert, Bartholomew, Weiss, & co. should definitely check them out in the fanfic they came from.


	10. [Canon Divergence] Now He's Our Father

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider this chapter to be the cutoff point for the story. After chapter 9, it would presumably flow into the regular events of The Owl House. This chapter would lead into the events of the fanfiction that inspired it: "My Child is a Human?! An Emperor's Guide to Parenthood."
> 
> Some of the dialogue here has been paraphrased or taken verbatim from the first chapter of "My Child is a Human?!". This was done to keep things (relatively) consistent between the stories.

_The Book of Titan, afterword by Emperor Belos:_

_Brothers and sisters, know that everything I have done has been for you. Every sacrifice I made and every life that I took was for the sake of the Boiling Isles. My devotion to you is unending and unconditional. I hope to ensure an era of peace and prosperity as long as I live._

_There may come a time when your faith is tested. You may believe the Titan has abandoned you, or that I have been unworthy to rule over the Boiling Isles. When those feelings arise, I ask that you reflect on what I have done to protect you. My intentions for the witches of the Isles have been nothing but pure._

_When the Day of Unity arrives, I pray that we all may walk arm-in-arm toward our destiny. If the Titan wills it, then we may create a true paradise for ourselves on that fateful day._

* * *

Walking did wonders for one’s temperament. To escape one’s chair and wander aimlessly, even if only for a few minutes, was nothing short of liberating. The chance to get the blood flowing and see some fresh sights was also good for the soul.

For this reason, Emperor Belos made sure to leave his throne behind a few times a day and patrol the halls of his castle. It wasn’t far enough to hamper the connection with his severed, engorged heart, but it gave him the taste of freedom he sorely needed. Not to mention, he enjoyed the opportunities it gave him to speak to his subjects. The occasional tours and diplomatic visits allowed him to meet strangers from all over the Boiling Isles.

Most of the people he met on this day were the usual Emperor’s Coven guards and castle servants. They greeted him with the standard declaration of, “At your command, Emperor Belos!” He shared his appreciation for their services and moved on, used to the interactions but still grateful for them.

Still, Belos came across plenty of unfamiliar names and faces during his walks. As such, he was barely fazed when he came across a young human girl during his usual rounds. He didn’t recognize the tan-skinned, brown-haired child, but her eyes practically lit up when she noticed him. The loose sleeves of her purple hoodie flailed as she waved to him.

“Are you my dad?”

Whatever question Belos had in mind died on his lips. Out of all the things he had expected this strange girl to say, he hadn’t expected… _that_.

With all the grace the situation allowed him – very little – he meekly replied, “Erhm, what?”

“My mom said that my dad is Emperor Belos. That’s you, right?” Her overly long sleeves flapped with another quick arm gesture. “You look like an emperor.”

Belos blinked. “…I am Emperor Belos, yes. Who might you be, human child, and where did you come from?”

The girl grinned and cheerfully answered him. “My name’s Luz, and I’m six years old! I saw this wiggly hole in the air and walked through! Then I heard people call you ‘Emperor Belos,’ and I remembered mom saying that name a lot!”

To put it mildly, Belos was utterly baffled. Under his mask, the glow of his eyes had dimmed, and his mouth was twisted into a shocked gape. He didn’t remember siring a child, and yet…

…Looking closer, he realized that the little girl appeared vaguely similar to a companion he had met in the human realm. She had been an optimistic, vivacious nurse who had gotten him back on his feet after a nasty accident. In that regard, the girl’s round nose and hair color were strikingly familiar.

It could just be a coincidence. However, he knew better than to leave things to chance.

“Kikimora?” he called out, hiding his nervousness under a short fit of laughter.

It took mere moments for the short witch to scamper by his side. She glanced at the girl, briefly confused, then turned her attention to Belos.

“Yes, your Greatness?” Kikimora asked him.

“Call for the leaders of the Healing and Oracle Covens. I demand their presence immediately.”

“Of course, your Greatness.”

Belos figured that it might not hurt to keep Luz occupied while he sorted this issue out. Almost stumbling over his next orders, he said, “And, uh…get Luz some toys. The non-deadly ones.”

“…Of course, your Greatness,” Kikimora repeated, wide-eyed and somewhat confused.

This was going to be a strange day, Belos knew that for certain. He didn’t know if he should be elated or terrified at the prospect of having a child. If he and Luz were related, then his life would never be the same anymore. Whether or not that would be a good thing remained to be seen.

All he could do was pray for the Titan’s wisdom and guidance, because he got the feeling he’d be entering uncharted territory with parenthood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed reading The Titan's Word! This was a fascinating story to write. I doubt that anything I wrote about Belos or his origins will turn out to be true in season 2 of the show, but it's fun to speculate on what shaped him into the ruler of the Boiling Isles. I gained some sympathy for him and his allies while writing this, so it'll be fun to see how that affects my perception of the show's events in rewatches.
> 
> If you haven't already, I would recommend giving "My Child is a Human?!" a read. It's more comedic than this fanfic, but I've enjoyed its take on Belos and the coven leaders. The original characters featured in it are well-crafted and fit the atmosphere of The Owl House. I'm grateful to Scrabbleauthor for allowing me to use some of these OCs in The Titan's Word.
> 
> Have a great day!


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